The Call
by IronAmerica
Summary: What if Vince had answered Dana in the pilot episode?  Things take a turn for the better  or worse , and all beause of a phone call.
1. He's Alive

Okay, so I have now taken leave of my sanity and am attempting to write two stories at the same time. Here's a response to another poll choice.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

Chapter one: He's alive…

Vince took a deep breath as he dialed an all-too-familiar number from memory. The last time he'd had to do this, he'd…well; he'd been calling to tell Dana that the captain had ordered him to work overtime on their wedding anniversary. (That had been a fun conversation he thought wryly, listening to the phone ring. Dana hadn't spoken to him for a month.)

He'd been with the circus for a little over a month now. His "remains" had been released to Dana the week before. Today had been his funeral. Vince sighed and tightened his grip on the shabby black phone a little more. God, how was Dana taking this?

The former cop heard a distinctive click as someone on the other end picked up. Oh God. That was her voice! Vince took a shaky breath and swallowed, trying to stall the tears again.

_-Hello?-_ Dana's voice over the phone had a tinny, metallic tone to it. That was wrong. Her voice should be light, vibrant. Why did the phone have to distort that? _-Hello? Who's calling?-_

Vince swallowed nervously, catching a glimpse of Max out of the corner of his eye. The old carnie was looking on disapprovingly as Vince held the receiver to his ear. Why didn't the old man understand? Why didn't Max understand that he _had_ to do this? If not for his sake, then for Dana's. His wife _had_ to know… Didn't she?

_-Who is this?- _ Dana's voice had gotten cold, hard. She wasn't happy, but at least she didn't sound weepy and sad anymore. _–I'm hanging—_

"No!" Vince yelped, panicked at the thought. There was a little quiver of energy. No going back now, not now. He saw Max frown, and turned his attention back to the phone now clasped tightly in both hands. It was his lifeline now. God it was good to hear Dana's voice again, even if she was mad.

"No," Vince repeated, a little more calmly. Realizing that she'd probably recognize his voice, Vince pitched it a little lower. "Are you Dana Faraday?" Please God, don't let Marty be there. Please God, let Dana be alone…

_-Yes… Who is this?-_ Again, her tone was accusatory, angry. It wasn't a surprise, given that she'd just had to attend a funeral for her husband. A husband, Vince thought sullenly as he mentally composed a reply, who wasn't even dead.

"I…" Vince stuttered, unsure of how to reply. How was he going to…? "My name is Max," he said, grasping at straws. "I have information regarding your husband's murder."

He heard the skeptical bark of laughter, and felt his heart break at Dana's next words.

_-Listen here, you feckless son of a…-_ Trip must have come in, Vince thought as his wife trailed off mid-swear. She continued in a harsh whisper. _–I don't know what kind of sick game you think you're playing, you bastard, but—_

Vince couldn't help but cut her off before she could start chewing him out again. "He's not dead." There was some harsh breathing on the other end. As Dana took a deep breath, no doubt to start screaming at him, Vince interrupted her again. "He said…" Vince gave a shaky sob of laughter. "He said that the Jackals were coming in from play."

There was a shaky sob from Dana. It was no surprise, really. He could count on one hand the number of "outsiders" that knew his unit's unofficial designation. Even fewer knew that his wife had been the one to pin it on them, and later come up with most of their codes. Jackals returning from play meant that the deployment was ending and they were coming home (or Hanson had blackmailed someone into getting them a three-week pass).

_-Who are you…?-_ Dana whispered over the line, sounding like she was about to start weeping again.

Vince smiled sadly, wishing his wife could see him through the phone. "Just a friend," he murmured. "The jackal's father will be in Trolley Park; nine a.m. sharp tomorrow." He heard Dana mutter something under her breath, followed by a clatter.

She'd be in the kitchen now, opening one of the drawers on the table to find a pen and paper. Dana always had something to write with (or on) within grabbing distance. She liked writing—even if no one else could decipher the incomprehensible legal code she liked to use.

_-Trolley Park. Right. If this is a joke, you'll regret it…_Max_.-_

Vince stared at his phone in frank surprise as Dana hung up. Wow. She'd never really reacted like that to any phone call he could remember… Well, okay, maybe the one time. An ex-boyfriend had called once, shortly after Trip had been born. The shouting match had gone on for over an hour. Vince had retreated to the garage with a fussy baby Trip after it'd passed the fifteen-minute mark.

After that, she'd refused to say anything more on the subject. Trying to bring it up had earned Vince a week on the couch and a month of diaper duty.

He didn't even realize that Dana had hung up until Max was tugging the phone out of his grip. Vince looked up at the old carnie, who had a disapproving look on his face.

"I…I had to do something…" Vince muttered, feeling more drained than he ever had.

Max sighed and led Vince over to the makeshift d-hall outside the big top. He sat down and steepled his fingers. After a few minutes uncomfortable silence, he spoke. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, Vincent?"

Vince grinned and shook his head. "No." His relief at the fact that Max wasn't throwing him out on the streets was almost palpable. "I have no idea, but all I know is that it was the right thing to do."

Max smiled grimly. "I hope you're right, Vincent."

- o -

Dana sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone in her hands. A man named Max, who somehow knew the codes she'd helped her husband create… Oh God. She gave a watery chuckle, and sniffed back some tears. Her husband was alive, and this "Max" fellow knew where he was. Even if it was a complete and utter lie, she could at least pretend—until tomorrow morning—that it was true. A little ray of hope…

She looked up to see Trip standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His hair was mussed up, and he looked tired. Dana smiled sadly and held her arms out. Like he had when he was younger, Trip fell into the hug. Even if the call was a lie, it was nice for some hope…

- o – o -

Vince sat on a picnic table near the entrance to Trolley Park, trying to focus on something other than his anxiety. His wife was probably going to be mad as hell when he told her what had happened. Why hadn't he thought to make that call from Angola, or somewhere equally far away?

But, it was too late to take that course of action, because there was Dana. She'd pulled into the lot in his truck. From this distance, Vince couldn't tell if she was crying or about to start screaming at him when she got over there. He prayed to whatever deity was listening that she was just crying. When Dana was mad, she was scarier than most of the people his team had been sent after…

Vince sighed as Dana came to a halt in front of him. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt (one of his, it looked like), and looked mad enough to kill. Well, time to get this over with… Vince stood up and walked over to Dana. She looked up at him, eyes widening in surprise and recognition.

"Vince…?"

The former cop couldn't exactly blame his wife for fainting.

- - o - -

So, there you have it. I throw my hat into the AU ring and proudly support the canon-friendly ship.

What did you think? Like it, hate it? Think it should have happened differently? Drop a line and let me know!


	2. Run Vince, run

A new chapter to wind down the week. A bit of Vince's point of view, and some...unexpected news.

- o – o -

Chapter two: Run Vince, run…

Vince paced around the big top, rehearsing what he wanted to say to Dana when she got there. _If she got there_, a snide little voice in the back of his mind said. Vince brushed it aside with a shudder and sat down on the bleachers. He jumped up a few seconds later and began pacing again, running his hands through his hair as he muttered his improvised apologies to Dana under his breath.

There was no _way_ this was going to work, and Dana was going to _murder_ him.

For God's sake, he was just going to talk to his wife. It wasn't like he was meeting her parents! So why was this making him so damn nervous…? Vince sighed and slid to the ground. The former cop resisted the urge to beat his head against the support post and looked up at the canvas roof of the big top. Reddish-yellow light filtered down through the holes in the canvas, turning everything inside a murky orange-brown color.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair again. If not for the fact that Ruvi had been harping at him about the importance of controlling his emotions, he would have started screaming or beating something. Why had he called Dana? For that matter, why had he begged Max to help him become a superhero the day before?

Vince groaned in exasperation at his own stupidity and checked his watch. Half an hour until Dana arrived. He jumped up and began pacing around the ring. The former cop aimed a kick at a can in his path, and watched in amazement as it sailed over the edge of the ring and landed in a garbage bin.

"Huh," Vince said, staring at the garbage bin. He shook his head with a sigh and headed for the exit. He could wait for Dana, and maybe come up with a plan for throwing himself off the Lorraine Boulevard Bridge afterwards. (The bridge led to his old neighborhood and seemed to be popular with jumpers. It was also fairly popular with people dumping bodies, come to think of it.)

The former cop paced across the lot and stopped at the picnic tables where most of the manual labor around the carnival ate their meals. He sighed and sat down on the one closest to the parking lot, head held in his hands. Dana was going to be _pissed_.

Dana arrived a short while later in his old pickup truck. Vince grinned at the sight of his beat-up red Ford. She _hated_ that truck with a passion, and had been trying to convince him to get rid of it since she'd first laid eyes on it. That she was driving it was a good sign. Wasn't it…?

Vince bit his lip at that thought. Didn't he keep a shotgun in the toolbox…? He groaned and stood up from his perch on the picnic table. Time to face the music… The former cop walked over to his wife, hands raised to lower the hood on his sweatshirt. Before he could lower it, Dana looked up. Her eyes widened in shock and recognition. She uttered his name in a breathy little whisper, like she was trying not to cry.

The collapse was unexpected.

- - o - -

Vince paced around in front of the side tent, gnawing on his lower lip. He'd met his wife, as expected. She hadn't tried to mace him—unexpected, but nice. (It was a relief, really. Mace was not something he wanted to contend with. It stung like all hell.) She recognized him…and fainted. Not so good, Vince thought with a mental sigh.

Max, who swore he'd been passing by on something _completely_ unrelated, helped Vince carry Dana into the side tent that seemed to double as the infirmary. He'd left for a few minutes, and returned with a sullen, drowsy-looking Ruvi in tow. Despite the hypnotist's generally abrasive nature, he was an excellent doctor.

Vince peered into the side tent where Ruvi was looking at Dana's head, and sighed. Nothing was going according to plan. No matter how nebulous said plan had been, Vince didn't recall having his wife pass out in shock and get a bruise. This was _not_ good.

The former cop stopped pacing and chewed on one thumbnail as he watched the hypnotist hand Dana a cup of tea. Dana was conscious now—well, mostly, at this rate—and was talking quietly with Ruvi. He murmured something under his breath and gestured at the tea again. Dana sighed and took a sip.

To Vince, she looked…nervous, somehow. Why was she uncomfortable?

Vince shrugged the feeling of impending doom away and began pacing again. He couldn't exactly blame Dana for being nervous or uncomfortable—after all, it wasn't every day that someone who was supposedly dead turned up alive and well. Or, for that matter, turned up in the company of flamboyant, circus-themed criminals, Vince thought with a sardonic grin.

"Vincent?"

Vince stopped pacing again and looked around. Ruvi had come out of the little alcove, and was wiping his hands on a rag. The Romanian hypnotist was staring at him, either with an air of ill-disguised contempt or a (rarer) look of actual concern.

"Yeah?" Vince asked, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "How is she?" he asked, standing on tiptoe to look over the hypnotist's head. "Is she going to be okay?" He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his wife still upright, drinking the tea that Ruvi kept on hand in case of migraines or just headaches in general.

He had to hide a grin when he saw Dana grimace at the flavor. No one but Raia could drink that foul brew without grimacing. (Although, Vince amended silently, that was probably because she drank more of the horrible tea than Ruvi did on a daily basis.)

"She'll live," Ruvi replied deadpan, tucking the rag into the back of his wide leather belt. He crossed his arms and stared at Vince. He sighed and shook his head. "I suggest you speak with her yourself," he said as he ducked out of the side tent.

Vince had to wonder what the hypnotist meant as he walked into the alcove. He felt nervous—almost like he'd felt at his and Dana's wedding. Or about as nervous as he'd been when Dana finally introduced him to her parents, both of whom were…unusual, to say the least.

He sat down in the seat Ruvi had recently abandoned and looked at his wife. Dana set the cup down on the coffee table between them and settled back into the couch cushions. Vince swallowed and grinned weakly. "Hey Dana," he said quietly.

"Hello Vince," Dana replied, voice thick. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Vince looked down at his own hands, which were clenched tightly. His knuckles stood out bright white against his tan.

"So…so, um…how've you been?" Vince asked lamely, fishing for conversation. God, just the fact that she was here, talking to him at all, was amazing. She was so beautiful right now… He swallowed nervously as her face hardened. Uh-oh. That was the face that said he was going to be sleeping in the garage for a month, for accidentally giving Trip a black eye while they'd been playing catch.

"Absolutely fine," Dana replied stiffly. "Between Trip's nightmares, the harassing phone calls, and the District Attorney freezing our accounts, everything's been great." She finished with a sarcastic little grin. Vince winced at the steely edge in his wife's voice.

"I…I'm sorry," Vince finally muttered under his breath. He looked up, hoping that she could tell how much he wanted to be the one taking the brunt of these attacks. Be the one who got harassed and tormented by everyone… That was his job—he was supposed to protect Dana and Trip. Not the other way around.

Dana stared back, arms crossed over her abdomen. "We're going to lose the house," she said finally, breaking the awkward silence. "The HOA doesn't want a criminal's family there. We've got a week before they call the cops…"

Vince swallowed. He had to figure out _something_ now! Why was the Home-Owner's Association trying to get rid of Dana and Trip? Dana had been the vice-president for three years, for God's sake. Everyone there knew he'd been in Iraq and Afghanistan for years before moving into West Palm City…

"Is…is there anything I can do?" Vince asked.

Dana smiled back mirthlessly. "Find an apartment, in the next two days. I can make something up for Trip, but…" She trailed off, and muttered something under her breath. Vince leaned forward, confused.

"What was that, honey?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Vince, I'm…"

Vince stared at Dana, worried by her suddenly awkward tone. She was the one who looked nervous, chewing on her lower lip—like she did when she was trying to figure out a tough problem or the Sunday crossword.

"Yeah?" he asked, concerned. "What's up, sweetheart?"

"I…I'm pregnant," Dana whispered to her hands.

It was Vince's turn to faint.

- - o - -

Oops. Run, Vince, run...

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Dana should have prepared Vince for that little tidbit earlier? Drop a line and let me know!


	3. Apartments and Job Hunts

Chapter three is here! I swear, there's a timeline somewhere for this...

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter three: Apartments and Job Hunts

Dana paced around the empty house she'd lived in for the last eight years, sighing every so often. She'd been the one to find the house—Vince wasn't very good with real estate, unless it involved finding apartments while he attended college or tried to get into the police academy. She sighed, stopping at the door to her old bedroom. It was strange—three weeks ago, she and Vince had slept there together. Neither of them had known it was the last time they'd do that…

She swallowed and shut the door, doing her best not to slam it in frustration. If it hadn't been for ARK Corporation, her husband wouldn't be the scapegoat for a serial killer. He'd be at home, probably chastising her about slamming doors while he kissed his way up her neck.

Trip was on the front porch, holding his backpack and his baseball glove. Everything else had been packed into storage two days ago. Today, they were moving into a new apartment—one of Vince's friends at the carnival had found a three-bedroom on the edge of the business district for a fairly decent price.

She did, however, have to wonder _why_ it was only costing her four hundred a month. Her sister had told horror stories about paying six-hundred a month for a walk-in closet in Seattle. There was something wrong with the apartment…and she'd find out after she and Trip had settled in.

Maybe there were cockroaches…

- - o - -

Dana sighed as she walked around the new apartment. No matter how much she hated the situation, this was her new home. Trip had… Well, Trip had climbed up the fire escape to the roof half an hour ago to get out of the apartment. He was probably taking this harder than she was, at this point. Was this nightmare ever going to end?

Her neighbors back in West Palm, the people she'd been friends with for _years_ had turned on her in mere seconds. The years of friendship, or Vince's years of chaperoning their kids around on Halloween or volunteering to help cut their lawns on his days off… All of that meant nothing to them, as soon as the first reports started rolling in.

Why hadn't any of them realized that ARK was full of shit? Why hadn't any of them questioned what the news was telling them? Even Crazy Max—the child of two Beatniks and a former Hippie himself—hadn't questioned what was happening. And Crazy Max didn't believe _anything_ the media said.

If there was one silver lining to everything, it was that the apartment hadn't been as bad as she'd feared. If she were to be completely honest, Dana would have to admit that it was a lot nicer than the house had been. The downside was that it straddled the lines separating three major gang territories: Industrial, South Palm, and the very fringes of Dockside. According to the landlord, the neighborhood was fairly quiet all things considered. The weekends, though, were another matter.

Dana sighed again, wondering what was wrong with the city. She dialed the number for a near-by Chinese take-out and waited for the cook to pick up on the other end. The cook—also the owner—was a friend of Vince's. They'd attended the academy together, although Terrence had washed out with a busted knee three weeks before graduation.

He'd called her the day after Vince's "death" and told her flat out that he thought ARK Corporation was full of shit. She grinned when he picked up after a few seconds, before placing an order. For some reason, she just didn't want to cook at all… Everything had been so… Well, hectic. Hectic would have been a good way to put it, she supposed. Things could have been worse, Dana thought as she hung up.

Hanson could have called…

Dana froze as Hanson came to the forefront of her memory. Why hadn't any of the Jackals called? Hanson could have called… He knew everything—so why hadn't he called? The sergeant would have called as soon as he'd seen the story, threatening to rain down fiery vengeance on everyone who didn't believe that Vince was innocent…

She groaned and rested her forehead on her knees. There were too many questions to answer right now. All she wanted to do was get some dinner, write another letter to the DA—begging him to remove the hold he'd put on her accounts (_her! Her_ accounts! God!), and then go to sleep. Dana rested one hand on her abdomen and sighed. The stress was not going to be good for her during… Well, everything.

The take-out arrived a few minutes later, distracting Dana from her worries about pregnancy. She called Trip down from the roof, and grinned when he'd done so reluctantly. Over plates of greasy noodles and eggrolls, he'd told her about their neighbor in 5D. Trip was pretty sure that he was doing something in the shed up on the roof. He was also pretty sure that 5D was a drug dealer.

Dana was too tired to argue that point with her son. Stranger things had happened before, but she doubted that an unaffiliated drug dealer would be sitting on the crossroads between three territories during a turf war. Not unless he knew something the gang lords didn't, anyways…

After she was sure that Trip had gone to bed for the night—and was asleep instead of listening at doors again, Dana brought her cell phone out. Vince had given her his new number—one of the carnies had gotten him a cloned phone. Vince told her that, if she had an emergency or if she just wanted to call, that he was only a dial away.

Dana stared at the phone in her hands. Speaking of Vince, what did his new friends—the carnies—think about her? Or even Vince—he had, after all, been a cop. (Despite the fact that it was reasonably well-hidden, she'd seen the ice cream truck that had been present at several robberies over the past few weeks. She sincerely hoped her husband knew what he was doing…)

She sighed and held her head in her hands. There was just too much going on right now, without adding cartoonishly-themed bank robbers into the mix. She really, really hoped that Vince knew what he was doing with them. Striking back at ARK was good, but…

She sighed again, and put the phone back on the night table. She was pregnant, Trip had lost his father—and she was going to _have_ to tell him the truth soon; and everyone in the god damn city (with the exception of Terry and probably some of the gang lords) wanted nothing more than to form a lynch mob to come after her and her son.

Vince… Well, Vince had meant well when he'd told her about his continued residence in the land of the living, but Dana wasn't so sure that was a good thing now. Now, she had to balance her knowledge of her husband's innocence against what everyone else believed. And she had to do it without giving away the game every time she got into an argument with someone…

Dana groaned and lay down. She could figure out logistics in the morning…_after_ she started a job hunt.

- o -

By noon, Dana was about ready to start her own murder spree. She'd called seventeen different businesses advertising for help, and as soon as she'd mentioned her last name, she'd gotten a dial tone. Nothing was helping the issue.

And, thanks to Trip picking up the phone, she'd just lost another potential job offer. A law firm had been looking for someone who knew their way around a legal library. She'd almost gotten the job too…

Dana sighed and flopped back on her bed, letting the phone book fall onto her stomach. She'd have to figure something out before Trip had to go back to school—no reason for him to get teased even more than he was now.

(She'd seen him go back up to the roof after one of their neighbors had asked him about being Chess's son. Apparently Trip had traded in his fear of 5D—she thought his name was Ray, or Harry, or something like that—for avoiding the neighbors. She couldn't exactly blame him.)

Dana sat up with a start. She'd seen something a few weeks ago about the Public Defender's office being short-staffed again. According to the news, Dana suspected that understaffing was going to get worse within the next few months.

She flipped through the phone book until she found the number, and dialed it into her cell phone. Please, she thought, let them still be understaffed.

The phone picked up and Dana smiled in relief as the man on the other end began speaking. In a bored tone, he asked if she or a relative needed representation. Or, (_pleasefortheloveofGod_) do you want a job interview?

Dana grinned. "I'd like an interview. My name is Dana Faraday."

- - o - -

So, the third chapter is here. What did you think? Good? Bad? Do you think Dana should stop moping finally? Drop a line and let me know!


	4. Tarot

Alright, it's a new chapter! Dana's side of Tarot, this time. She's about 2 months at this point.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter Four: Tarot

Dana scowled at the phone in her hands, wishing she could immolate the man on the other end by thought alone. She'd scheduled an interview two _months_ ago, for Chrissakes! The call today had given her a time for the interview, and not much else. Dana was fairly sure that she was supposed to go to the public defender's office, and hoped that was the case. (Stranger things had happened before—once, she'd gone for a job interview as a secretary in a law firm, only to learn that she was supposed to have met the interviewer at a park instead. The expletives she'd used had been entirely fair.)

She flopped back on her bed with a sigh, and wondered if she should call Vince. He'd been…busy, with something. He hadn't told her what (although she suspected he'd told Trip), and whatever it was, was eating into the time she had to spend with him or even talk. Dana curled up on her side, wishing that Vince had never accepted the interview at ARK. He'd gotten better job offers from other sources in the months leading up to ARK's take-over—he'd even gotten an offer to teach at West Point. But, Vince being Vince, he'd had to stay. Now, her husband was presumed dead by everyone in the city that he loved, and everyone was raking her and her son over the coals.

Dana groaned and pulled her pillow over her face as the phone began ringing again. It was probably her mother, ordering her to return to upstate New York again. (In the past month, she'd gotten at least twelve calls to that effect. Somehow, beyond all reason or logic, Elena Thompson had learned that her baby girl was pregnant and without a husband. The phone hadn't stopped ringing for a _week_.)

She checked the caller id and almost began crying in relief. It _wasn't_ her mother, calling to harangue her again. Although…why was Vince calling her? As far as she knew, Vince had been forbidden to call her, just in case someone noticed something. All calls had to come from her end…

"Hello?" Dana asked warily, sitting up. She pulled one of her pillows over and curled up around it.

_-Dana Faraday?-_ It was a man's voice, but not her husband's. It…sounded kind of like the Romanian she'd spoken with three months ago, when she'd learned that Vince was still alive. Oh hell. What had gone wrong?

"Uh…yes…" Dana replied cautiously, chewing on her thumbnail. What had happened to Vince?

_-Oh good. Your husband was—_

There was a resounding crash on the other end of the line. Dana pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. What the hell was going on over there? She sighed as she heard some muffled Urdu swearing—the Romani had probably tried to tell her something about Vince. It was probably something that would, no doubt, embarrass her husband to no end. Ye gods. She flopped back onto the mattress, holding the phone in one hand and using the other to hold the pillow against her chest.

After a few seconds, Vince came on the line. He sounded embarrassed as he spoke, and a bit out-of-breath. _–Hey Dana-_ he said in a falsely cheerful tone. _–How's everything going, sweetheart? Is the baby okay?-_

Dana frowned. "Vince," she said calmly, "what did you do?" There was a nervous cough from her husband. Dana raised an eyebrow.

"Vince, tell me, or I'm going to drive down to Trolley Park to beat a confession out of you."

_-Uh…_Ikindagotpoisonedafewdaysago…____butI__'_mbetternow!- _Vince said in a jumbled rush. _–So, how're the kids?-_

Dana raised an eyebrow. "The three of us are fine. Wait… Did you say you got poisoned? Vince, what the hell are you doing with poison?" she screeched into the phone. She could almost see Vince recoiling from his phone with a fearful expression on his face.

_-It was an accident - _Vince mumbled under his breath. _–I'm better now. I saved Portman.-_ Dana raised an eyebrow.

"Vince," she asked cautiously, "would this have anything to do with Trip's new friend?" There was a resonating silence from the other end of the line. She sighed. "Vince, you're going to be explaining things to both of us tomorrow night. Or else."

With that, she cut the call. Now, she had to get ready for her interview…

- o – o -

Dana paced around the main hallway of the public defender's office, doing her best not to look nervous or anxious about anything. She'd fought to get this interview for two months—asking for one had been no problem, of course. Getting it had been another matter entirely; no one, it seemed, wanted a Faraday near them, even if they had no options left. She placed one hand on her stomach and glowered at the floor.

Not everything was going wrong this month, though. (The lawyer supposed she should have been grateful that at least _one_ person in this god-forsaken city—two, if she counted Terrence—believed her about Vince's innocence.) Judge Preston had a surprising effect on the DA, and everyone around her. Two weeks ago, just as Dana was wondering if she'd have to call her parents and beg for help, Preston had called and told her that her accounts—not her husband's or their joint account, though—were being unfrozen. As much as Dana hated to admit it, she'd needed that windfall almost as badly she needed this job.

She stopped pacing and sat down on one of the benches. What was keeping Mr. Hall so long? There couldn't be _that_ many candidates, could there? Dana looked up as he came out of his office again, nose buried in a file. Before she could draw attention to herself, he looked up.

"Dana…Faraday?" he asked, drawing little attention from anyone traversing the busy hallway. Dana stood up and smoothed her skirt self-consciously.

"Yes," she said, smiling widely. She held her hand out, and Hall shook it. "I'm Dana Faraday."

"Travis Hall," he replied, smiling. He sighed, and tucked his file under one arm. "I really hate to do this to you, but the job's been filled. I'm really sorry; thank you for coming in though."

Dana watched him walk away, and scowled darkly. _Faradays are fighters_… She straightened up and stalked after the lawyer, doing her best to erase the scowl from her face. "I know my name is a stigma!" she snapped, getting into step with Hall.

"That is not the case," Hall replied, sounding vaguely worried. It could have been because of the file he was perusing, though. Dana wasn't too sure.

"You need me!" Dana snapped. "Convictions are off the charts down here, ARK's flooding the streets with cops who make four hours of court overtime _every_ time they make an arrest. You're on your backs." She scowled as Hall tried to keep walking away. Before she could stop herself, she continued on her tirade. "And, as for my name, let me enlighten you and your super-curious staff as to one nagging detail regarding my husband, Vince Faraday: he never had a trial. I am here, to provide the justice to others that he was denied! And if you've got a vertebrae in your spine, you'll give me this job!"

She realized that she was laying it on a bit thick, but she really needed this job. She was almost relieved when Hall stopped and looked at her.

"This interview is over." Hall stopped and turned around, taking his glasses off. "As for the vertebrae in my spine…it works both ways." Hall smiled. "Do you defend your clients with this much…energy?"

Dana smiled, lifting her chin proudly. "Yeah, I do. Faradays are fighters," she said.

"Find a desk."

With that, Hall left the lobby, perusing his file once again. Dana let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. She'd gotten the job, and it was because of her name and her stubbornness.

She placed one hand over her abdomen and smiled again as she headed back to Hall's secretary to let him know that she'd gotten the job, and ask for a desk somewhere. Her kids were going to know _exactly_ what being a Faraday meant. Hopefully by this time next year, Vince would be able to teach both of them what it meant… Or else.

- o -

When Dana returned to the apartment, it was well after dark. Finding an open office had taken more time than she would have liked, and she'd had to ignore several…comments from people who believed the shit that ARK's puppet press was spouting. It'd been two months, for crying out loud! Couldn't they have dropped the issue already? But no, everyone had to throw their two cents in and couldn't leave well enough alone.

She felt dead tired, and knew that her nerves couldn't take much more than what they'd already gone through. She'd gotten the job, and she'd gotten an office (the secretary had taped a piece of paper with her name on it to the door, giving her an apologetic smile as he did so), and she was supposed to get a case or twelve tomorrow.

Dana sighed in relief as she shut the apartment door behind her. All she wanted to do now was take a long, hot bath, eat some ice cream, and then go to bed.

Judging by the open window, though, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Now, instead of having a relaxing bath, she had to go up to the roof and make sure that her son didn't get hypothermia or get into what was apparently a meth lab. (5D was a chemist for several local drug dealers. She'd gotten the apartment so cheap because no one wanted to live there, despite how safe the place actually was.) Dana sighed and crawled out to the fire escape. Luckily, she lived a story below the roof, and the climb wasn't too horrendous.

Trip was sitting in his usual spot underneath the apartment's water tower, reading an issue of _The Cape_ by the light of a flashlight. Dana looked down at him with a smile. He was so like Vince some days… (She'd lost count of the times she'd had to physically drag Vince to bed during the first year of their marriage because he'd wanted to finish an issue of his comic.)

"Hey," she said, looking down at her son. Trip looked up and smiled at her, before scooting over so she could sit down.

"Hi mom," Trip replied, closing his comic book. "Dad called today."

Dana smiled and wrapped one arm around her son. "Why don't you tell me about that, huh?" she asked.

"Well, he told me about…"

- - o - -

Side note: Dana and Travis's conversation earlier in the chapter- the interview- is taken directly from episode two of The Cape, Tarot. Credit where credit is due.

So, what did you think? Was it good? Bad? Think I should have done something different? Drop a line and let me know!


	5. Kozmo

Hey, it's a new chapter! Dana learns some new things, and Vince should invest in some running shoes.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter five: Kozmo

Dana looked around her office with an appraising eye. She'd expected something a lot more cramped, possibly looking over an alley. She was, after all, the "wife of Chess". Instead, she'd gotten a fairly nice office that wasn't filled from floor to ceiling with old paperwork. (She'd seen a few offices that looked more like misplaced filing rooms, but supposed that it came with the territory. In a few weeks, her new office would probably look just as cramped as theirs.)

The only space that wasn't taken up with a massive row of filing cabinets was occupied by a desk. The large window that took up most of the back wall had a set of blinds. They were folded down to block the view of the outside world, although that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Dana grinned and plunked her bag down on the desktop. Despite everything, this office was _hers_.

She sighed and pulled the one personal item she'd brought with her from home. It was a framed picture of her family—her, Trip, and Vince. Her sister had taken it at the last family reunion, and had managed to catch Vince unaware in the midst of some joke he'd been telling. Dana smiled at the picture and set it up on the windowsill. It was just the thing a grieving widow would have—although she wasn't exactly a widow, the thought still counted.

ARK Corporation had a lot to answer for, she decided with a scowl.

Fifteen minutes later, she'd set up the office to look more or less like a space that was lived-in. As soon as she'd opened a file on the beat-up computer on her desk, Travis walked into the office. He was carrying a massive stack of files, and Dana had the feeling that all of them were going to be hers.

She was right.

"Your caseload for the week," he said in lieu of a greeting, and deposited the stack on her desk. Dana stared in disbelief at the stack. She'd heard that ARK was getting harder on crime, but for God's sake, this was beyond mental!

"How is anyone supposed to get a good defense with a caseload like this?" she asked, trying not to glower at her boss. "ARK is out of control Travis! Arrests are up two-hundred percent." She sighed and threw her hands up in the air. "It's becoming a police state out there."

Travis shrugged. "Crime is down, and the people are happy." He sighed. "Look, our job isn't to bring down the system. It's to bring down this pile, one file at a time."

Dana shot him a dark look and opened the first file on the stack. She sighed in disgust. "Public urination? You have got to be kidding me! Do you see what I mean?"

Travis smiled, a little bit of humor in his eyes. "I suggest you use the 'when you gotta go, you gotta go' defense."

Dana scowled and threw a paper ball at him. Travis smiled at her and walked to the door.

"Gotta go," he said with a small laugh, and left.

Dana stared at the file again. Wait… The file mentioned the train yards… She grabbed the file and began reading it. He'd been living at the train yards at the time of his arrest. According to his first interview—_without_ legal counsel—he'd been living there for the past six months.

She sat back in her seat, frowning. An idea began forming in her mind, and she closed the file. Well, while Vince tried to fight Fleming's corruption from the wrong side of the law, she could work _inside_ the law to bring the billionaire down.

- o -

Dana waited in the interrogation room for one of the ARK guards to bring her client in from the holding cells. She saw the camera and resisted the impulse to smirk or give whoever was on the other end the finger. She was a professional. As much as she wanted to give ARK Corporation her opinion of them, she had enough trouble with people thinking her husband was Chess.

A few minutes later, her client came in, escorted by a skinny-looking kid in a uniform that didn't fit him quite right. He murmured something to her client, and looked over at her.

"Would you like me to stay, Mrs. Faraday?" he asked politely, although his eyes told a different story.

Dana forced an equally pleasant smile and shook her head. "No thank you. I'm sure I'll be fine."

The guard left without another word. Dana turned to look at her client. He was a fairly large man, and in serious need of a shave. (She'd spent far too much time around military men to like men with full beards.)

She opened her client's file and did a quick read-through to reestablish some facts. His name was Dewey, he was an indigent, and… Dana coughed as the smell reached her nose. Right. No shower or bath facilities at the train yards.

"It says here you were living in the freight yard at the time of your arrest," she said, pointing to the spot on the paperwork in front of her. "Is that correct?" Dewey nodded, giving her a brilliant smile. (For a homeless man, he did have nice teeth.) Dana smiled back and made a mental note to get some air freshener.

She paused, and then asked a niggling question. "Were you, by any chance, there…when they caught that guy in the mask? The one they call Chess?" She hoped that he didn't think it was unusual, or, worse, recognize her as _the_ Dana Faraday.

"That guy on TV they say done it, he wasn't Chess." He looked sure of himself, and proud of his knowledge.

"What do you mean, he wasn't Chess?" Dana asked, not having to feign the shock she felt.

"I saw what they did to that guy," Dewey said. He leaned forward, a look of earnestness on his face. "They put the needle in him, then they took him away." Dana knew she had an incredulous look on her face, but waited patiently for her client to finish his story.

"Next thing we see, is the same guy in the mask, now! He wasn't wearin' it before!" Dewey looked outraged. "That much, I know." Dana half-wondered if her client suffered from schizophrenia, and was trying to reassure himself of what he'd seen, more than he wanted to impart the information.

"You saw this?" Dana breathed. It was almost too good to be true…

"All the yard boys saw it." Dewey sat back in his chair. He smiled at her again, showing off his perfectly white teeth.

"Thank you," Dana whispered under her breath. She looked back down at his file and swallowed. "I can get you off with time served and some community service," she said, having collected herself. Dewey shrugged.

"Nah," he replied. "Don't bother, ma'am. Truth be tol'… I don' actually mind prison." He grinned at her, and Dana sighed, shaking her head.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she promised, standing up. "If you change your mind, let me know." With that, Dana left the room. As she left, she heard Dewey begin to whistle something… Why did it sound so familiar?

- o -

The logical thing for her to do, Dana decided as she drove back to the office, would be to tell Mary that there had been witnesses to Vince's "murder". Something about that option, though, didn't really set right with her. Vince hadn't given her very many details on the night ARK had hunted him down in the train yards, but Dana suspected that Marty was involved.

Why else had ARK Corporation gotten involved? No one knew Vince had gone down to the freight yard; hell, even she hadn't known. No one had known…but Marty. Dana scowled as she pulled into her parking spot at the far end of the parking garage. Marty was a rat fink, and damned if she was going to give him anything to go on.

With that though, she returned to work with a little spring in her step. Dewey and the yard boys were witnesses to Vince's "murder", and chances were one of them was sane enough to take the stand without inducing too much incredulity. She smiled all the way back to her office. The feeling of happiness faded as she took in the remainder of the pile of paperwork she had to get through.

She was going to be working at home tonight, wasn't she?

- o -

Dana couldn't believe it. She'd nearly maced her boss (thank God she'd grabbed the breath freshener instead), and spilled her paperwork all over the place. If she'd thought anything bad about her boss before though, they'd evaporated when he offered to take her son to a baseball game. Okay, so he had more in common with some of her male friends from law school, but at least he hadn't been taken in by the bull from ARK's press.

When she arrived at the apartment, out of breath and wanting to murder the landlord (the elevator was out again and her ankles were killing her), Dana noticed something…off, about her new residence. For one thing, she could smell another woman's perfume as she shucked her coat and heels in the front closet. For another, there was an unfamiliar coat in her closet.

Dana grabbed the baseball bat out of the back of the closet and looked around the living room. The light was on in the kitchen, and she could hear Trip talking quietly to someone. She followed the noise and froze in the doorway as she took in the sight. A short brunette woman was sitting at the kitchen table, next to Vince. Trip was talking to both of them, and smiling.

The strangest thing, though (aside from the mysterious brunette who was sitting _far_ too close to her husband), was Vince's get-up. Well. Apparently he'd taken up some new hobbies in the past few months. And this, Dana decided as she rested the baseball bat against the door frame and took a seat, was hardly the strangest thing she'd seen all week.

Vince looked up, smiling. "Hey Dana," he said, not at all concerned by the fact that he was wearing a higher-class version of his tenth-grade Halloween costume. "I wanted to introduce you to someone." He motioned to the brunette, who gave her an easy smile in return.

"Hello Mrs. Faraday," the girl said, sounding a touch uneasy. "I'm Orwell."

Dana turned to Vince. "This is going to take awhile to explain, isn't it?"

- - o - -

So, thoughts on this? Good? Bad? Think Vince should start looking at Nike adds over the weekend? Drop a line and let me know!

- - o - -

Okay, so this is the last chapter I'll be posting for a few weeks. I do apologize to everyone who's been reading any of the stories I've posted on here, and that are currently in progress. Unfortunately, NaNoWrimo begins on Tuesday/Monday at midnight. I will be working on the novel for a while, and any updates that happen will be because I've reached significantly over my daily wordcount.

Until December, everyone.

-IA


	6. Dice

Hey! It's a new chapter! I haven't abandoned The Call either!

Timeline: About four months.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- - o - -

Chapter Six: Dice*

It was far too early in the morning for anything, Dana thought as she made her way into the kitchen. Especially, she decided as she saw a familiar brunette girl sitting at the table, a visit from Orwell. The blogger looked up with a weak smile, and Dana noticed that there were dark circles under her eyes.

"Morning Orwell," Dana said, leaning against the counter. She massaged her stomach a little, wondering why this kid was beginning to kick her ribs so soon. Orwell shrugged, looking two seconds from falling asleep.

"Vince needs some files," Orwell yawned, looking blearily at the clock on the wall. "And he wants the only copies of them." Dana caught the implications of theft in that statement and raised her eyebrows.

"Vince wants me to _what_?" she asked, disbelieving. She stared at the blogger sitting at her table, wondering just what the hell was going on. It had to be hormones screwing with her hearing right now, because there was no _way_ that Vince was asking her to steal legal files for him.

"He wants some file from ARK," Orwell replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Considering that she regularly broke half a dozen laws for her blog on a daily basis, Dana thought as she began preparations for breakfast, it probably was.

The public defender sighed and resisted the urge to beat her forehead against the cabinet in front of her. It was bad enough that her husband was engaging in vigilantism, but now he was asking her to commit theft! Obviously she needed to give her darling another lecture on ethics…

"Look, I don't want to give him the files either," Orwell said, breaking into Dana's thoughts. "I don't like the idea of letting a gang of criminals drop off the grid, but…" She sighed, blowing a strand of long brown hair out of her face. "I kinda owe him one."

Dana sighed, shaking her head. "I'll see what I can do," she finally replied, setting the skillet on the stove. "Would you like…" The blogger had left, Dana discovered when she turned around. Odd girl…

- o -

Dana was on eggshells when she arrived at work later that day. She'd packed Trip off to school after extracting another promise not to fight from him, before heading to the ARK records office. It had been…disturbingly easy, to say the least, to get the files she wanted from the man in charge of records. He hadn't even asked for ID or checked her signature before she'd left with the files on several members of Vince's hosts.

Now, she was praying that no one discovered that she was involved in theft or…

Dana's train of thought derailed as she saw the headline on the morning edition of the _Palm City Herald_. Last night, someone had attempted to murder Peter Fleming. All the would-be assassin had managed to do (unfortunately) was damage several thousand dollars worth of casino equipment. The dealer at the table (was that what they were called? Dana wondered. She hadn't been to Ochun City in years) had been injured in the explosion, and ARK Corporation was footing the medical bill.

Being discovered for theft wasn't such a big thing after all, Dana decided as she shucked her coat. She had another foot-high stack of files on her desk, courtesy of her personal intern (she liked to think of Ryan as her personal intern). The public defender sighed and got to work.

- o -

When she got home that evening, Dana had another surprise waiting for her. There was a call from Vince on her answering machine. As she listened, Dana had to wonder if ARK's puppet courts would prosecute her for murdering a man who was technically dead. Vince was going to have to explain, someday, exactly how he got into life-threatening situations. And why the hell was this girl, Dice or whatever, trying to kill Fleming?

Dana sighed and erased the message about Vince's side of the events at the Violin that afternoon, and went to the kitchen. Trip was sitting at the table, slouched over his history book. He looked dead tired, and there was a bruise forming around his left eye.

The public defender grumbled something under her breath about the safety of public schools and sat down next to her son. She just sat there, holding her son close as he cried into her shoulder.

It was just one of those days…

After a few minutes, Trip pulled back and wiped his eyes, wincing as he came in contact with his black eye. "I'm fine mom," he mumbled under his breath. He packed his things up and hurried out of the kitchen, heading for his room. Dana smiled sadly, and waited five minutes before she walked to his room as well.

She wasn't Vince, but they could always read The Cape together…

- o -

Dana sat on the sofa the next evening, watching the news footage again. Vince had been at ARK Towers, and… Why was he involved in so many explosions these days? There had been the docks a few weeks ago, when Scales' thugs had rousted a group of drug dealers trying to set up shop, and the car bomb a week ago—he'd managed to avoid that by sheer dumb luck, which made her wonder how he'd survived Hanson and the Jackals. (Despite the fact that Vince had been the commanding officer, the squad was Hanson's.)

Vince had saved Peter Fleming's life again. An unnamed civilian—Dana had caught the half-picture and sighed as she recognized Orwell—had captured Dice. ARK Security, finally getting on the ball, had discovered a high wire stretched between ARK Towers and a building across the street. The Cape could now add funambulism to his resume of already impressive skills.

Dana sighed and flopped backwards on the sofa. It would definitely explain why Vince hadn't made his twice-a-day phone calls over the past two days. She had to wonder if the files she'd stolen had somehow been involved in her husband learning how to walk on a tight rope in two days, before deciding she really didn't want to know.

Trip padded into the living room a few minutes later with his history book. "Mom," he asked, stopping at the sofa. "What's _Plessey v. Ferguson_ about?" Dana sat up with a smile. She could always berate Vince about his dangerous after-dark activities later.

"Well…"

- - o - -

*-Yes, I realize that Scales on a Train is supposed to come before Dice. Don't leave a review screaming at me for doing this. According to The Call's timeline, Dice takes place before Scales. (As a fun fact, Dice was produced before Scales.)

So, what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Think Dana should beat Vince at some point? Drop a line and let me know!


	7. Scales

It's a new chapter! Enjoy!

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter Seven: Scales

As Dana drove to the cake shop after work on October 31st, she half-wondered if she should have taken her mother's advice all those years ago. Mother had advised her to marry a nice lawyer or a doctor, having given up hope for her older daughter years beforehand—Eliza had been determined to become a live-in nurse, and was now doing so in Seattle.

Quite honestly, Dana thought as a fire truck rumbled past, marrying the lawyer or the doctor would have given her fewer headaches. Vince on the other hand… She wondered if she could get away with murdering someone who was a) believed to be dead, and b) believed to be Chess. Maybe the city would give her a medal…

Dana sighed, rubbing her forehead with one hand. She was nursing another work-related headache, on top of the problem with Vince being an idiot, and this baby was making it impossible to take any kind of pain reliever.

Today was Halloween, and that mean it was Trip's birthday. To make it worse, it was Trip's _tenth_ birthday. Her husband was being a moron and refusing to attend because he had vigilante-type duties to attend to. Instead of attending his son's birthday, Vince would rather go gallivanting around the city in tights. He'd be lucky if she didn't clobber him the next time he decided to show up.

Well, that was how life was… Dana scowled at the picture of Vince and Trip she'd taped to the dashboard a few weeks ago. Her darling husband was going to be in the doghouse for at least a month for this transgression. Why couldn't he have been more like one of her clients, or (God forbid) Travis?

Dana shook the thought of Travis away as fast as possible. For one thing, she was still married to Vince. For another, Travis was her boss. For the third… Dana grumbled something obscene under her breath, directed at most of the men in her life. Why couldn't Vince be more like Kia's boyfriend? She'd only met Philips a few times, but he'd seemed charming enough—the only black mark against him was that he worked for ARK, really.

The public defender pulled her car into an empty spot in front of the cake shop, grateful that the store had a dedicated private parking lot. She really didn't want to deal with parking meters or the city's meter readers right now. The meter readers seemed to take a perverse delight in giving her parking tickets for the most inane reasons. (Did they carry rulers with them, or something?)

Although, Dana thought as she got into the queue in the crowded shop, maybe the meter readers weren't so bad. They were at least better organized than this…zoo. Thank god she'd put in her order two days ago. All she had to do was go up to the counter and give the cashier her receipt. Why Trip had wanted an ice cream cake, though, she had no idea.

Twenty-seven minutes later, she was out of the cake shop and back in her car. The shop owner's wife was Mexican and enthusiastic about pregnancies. She also happened to know Vince's father, which was a good thing for Dana.

The public defender finished off the cookie Rosa had given her and pulled back into traffic. Rosa was an amazing woman, although how she kept up with seven children and fifteen grandchildren Dana couldn't fathom.

Dana muttered another obscenity under her breath as the traffic jam she was now caught in got worse. It was fifteen minutes to six, and she was stuck behind the tow trucks and…another goddamn fire engine. She resisted the urge to beat her forehead against the steering wheel and pulled her phone out. Now she needed to call Travis and let him know she was late—and call Trip, so he'd know to let Travis in.

"Travis?" she asked as soon as the phone picked up.

"_That is my name,_" Travis said.

Dana sighed and smiled in exasperation. "Are you still up for going over the Cordai depositions tonight?"

"_Uh, I'm pretty much at your place right now,_" Travis replied. Dana raised an eyebrow. He must have walked, then. Poor Travis…

"God, I am so sorry, I'm stuck in horrendous traffic right now." Dana sighed and glared out the window at the truck in front of her, before returning her attention to Travis. "The cake place was a zoo, and… Trip is going to have to let you in." She sighed. "But he is _super_ conscientious about letting strangers in, and I'm going to have to call ahead and warn him…" Her phone beeped and Dana pulled it away from her ear to stare at it.

"Oh come on. Really?" In exasperation, Dana hammered her fist on the horn. It did nothing to relieve her headache. This was going to take forever, and the damn cake was starting to melt. If Vince hadn't been so reluctant to attend Trip's birthday, she might actually been at home right now. (Last year, Vince had been the one to pick up the cake, and had promised to do so again if she went back to work like she'd been thinking about at the time.)

Dana groaned and leaned back in her seat, wondering how long it took to clean up a car wreck. Pity she'd gotten Trip's present wrapped during her lunch break. She could have had something to do right now. And where was her phone charger anyways?

At least she had something to do now, Dana thought as she began digging around in the glove box. Traffic wasn't going anywhere any time soon…

- o – o -

It was nearly seven-thirty when Dana finally arrived back at the apartment, bearing a half-melted ice cream cake and a present for Trip. The pregnant public defender sighed when she found her boss sitting on the landing outside her apartment, and wished she'd found her phone charger. Travis was probably going to give her another six feet of files to work through for this…

"Hey Travis," she said, coming to a stop on the stair just beneath the landing. Her boss looked up, a relieved smile on his face.

"Hello Dana." He spotted the packages in her hands and stood up, gathering his files under one arm. "Um… Should I leave, or something?" Travis looked a little bewildered and uncomfortable at the situation, and Dana couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. She'd thought she'd mentioned it was Trip's birthday…

"No, no!" she said hurriedly, trying to juggle her things and dig around in her purse for the house key. "Please, stay. I…" She sighed, letting some of her anxiety about whatever it was that Vince was up to leak through. "It's Trip's first birthday without his dad, and…"

Travis smiled. "Alright, Faraday," he said, smiling in a teasing manner. Dana wished he would use her first name and stick with it, or just call her Mrs. Faraday and stop switching his moods around so much.

Dana smiled back and opened the door. She deposited her things on the table off the door and rushed over to Trip, who was sitting on the sofa, staring glumly at his history book. He had another black eye.

"Happy birthday," she said, hoping she sounded as apologetic as she felt. "I'm so sorry buddy, I'm…I'm oh, I'm no good at this."

Trip looked up at her, a look of sleepy confusion on his face. "No good at what?"

Dana smiled and shrugged. "I don't know."

"Hey Trevor," Trip said, looking around Dana to her boss, "you want some milkshake cake?" Travis laughed, smiling. Well, at least there weren't any hard feelings, Dana thought with a smile, considering that Trip had kept him out on the landing for over two hours.

"Sure," Travis replied. "Pour me some of that milkshake cake."

Dana laughed, feeling happier than she had all day.

- o – o -

When Trip came into her room at seven the next morning (a _Saturday_ morning, no less), Dana wanted to murder someone. (Like her husband. Apparently gate crashing a casino party with Orwell was more important than his son's birthday. If it were possible, she'd try to kill him _and_ the blogger with her brain.) And then her son showed her the compass Vince had left on his windowsill.

"Sweetie, go watch cartoons or something," Dana said, smiling. "I have to yell at your father."

Trip rolled his eyes, somewhat disappointed that his mother wasn't as excited about the present as he was. Dana waited until he was gone before dialing the number to Vince's cell phone. He picked up on the first ring. If Orwell was there as well, she could try killing both of them with her brain after she got an explanation.

"Vince," she said sweetly, "You and I need to talk."

- - o - -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Has Vince bought those running shoes yet? Drop a line and let me know!


	8. Goggles and Hicks

Hey, it's a new update! This time, Goggles and Hicks gets examined, and things go a bit differently than planned.

Holy crap, is that a plot device?

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter Eight: Goggles and Hicks

Dana hurried around her kitchen, doing her best to get breakfast ready as she kept one eye on the television. NBC's Palm City affiliate (_why couldn't they just come out and say that ARK owned their station?_) was covering a press conference in front of ARK Towers. According to the scrolling bar at the bottom, ARK was announcing the identity of their new chief of police, six months after the fact.

The public defender resisted the urge to throw the set out of the window when Fleming announced that Marty Voyt was now the chief of police. She'd stopped accepting invitations from him two months ago, after he'd refused to take the hint to stop bringing "evidence" into her home. Susan still stopped by from time to time, knowing full well that she'd get thrown out the second Chess was mentioned.

_It was time to contact the Jackals, wasn't it?_ Dana thought as she turned the set off. Trip had baseball tryouts today, and he still wasn't up for breakfast. If he tried to back out of going, she'd probably blow a gasket at him.

"Trip!" she yelled, shoving a slice of toast onto the plate. "Honey, you need to eat soemtihng before practice or you're not going to have any energy out there."

Trip looked at her as if she'd grown another head. "I'm not going."

"Are you sick?" Dana asked in concern.

"Sick of baseball," Trip replied. "I quit."

"Hey!" Dana snapped, suddenly on the warpath again. "You are not a quitter, Trip! And you know what, you cannot keep sitting around the house all the time. You have to go out there and make some friends!"

"Mom," Trip said as if he were trying to explain this to a younger sibling, "No one likes me."

"Honey, it's because they don't' know you. And they're never going to get to know you if you just sit around the house all the time. So eat, get your glove; we're leaving in ten."

Trip scowled at her, before leaving the room, presumably to get his baseball glove. Dana sighed and beat her forehead against the cabinet. Her obstetrician was going to kill her if her blood pressure went up much more…

- o – o -

Dana was relieved when baseball practice ended. Trip actually seemed to have enjoyed himself, but the coach was giving her the creeps. She smiled as her son waved goodbye to some of the other boys he'd met (and the lone girl, who was hiding in her voluminous hoodie again) before jogging over.

"Hey buddy," Dana said, "How was it?"

Trip shrugged. "It was okay. Diana is a southpaw, like me," he added. Dana resisted the urge to tease her son about the blush spreading across his cheeks. She'd have time enough to do that later.

(After she murdered Vince for lurking, of course. He'd been a cop, for Christ's sake! Didn't he realize that hanging out, by himself, at a baseball diamond where little kids were, was a recipe for disaster?)

"Okay then," Dana replied, hugging her son. "Let's go get ice cream or something," she suggested, feeling the baby kick her ribs again. Trip smiled, and it was clear he'd gotten over his resentment of another sibling rather quickly. The ice cream was worth it.

And she was also going to have to make plans for murdering Marty. Maybe tell him that she was calling Sergeant Hanson… That was a good start.

- o – o -

Dana glanced into her son's room, and stared. "Trip… What are you doing?"

"Photographic surveillance," he replied absently, fiddling with some piece of computer equipment. "I'm going to get pictures of dad in tights." Dana laughed at that. Her son was full of surprises these days, when he wasn't moping.

"Okay sweetie," she said. "I'm going to Marty and Susan's for his party. I shouldn't be gone too long," she added with a glance at her watch. "Mrs. Morris and Dane are next door if you need anything."

He smiled at her. "I'll be fine mom."

"Okay. I love you," Dana murmured, giving her son a hug. "I'll be back soon." With that, she left. If Trip got pictures of Vince in that get-up, she was going to make sure she got some copies. There had to be an easier way to get her darling husband to get his chores done on time. (Well, if he ever got to "come back from the dead", anyways.)

The drive to Marty and Susan's was mercifully quick. It seemed that everyone was staying indoors tonight. If she were a little more naïve, she would have chalked it up to ARK doing something; given what she knew of the criminal world from her clients though, she'd blame it on Scales being in a royally bad mood.

Susan Voyt answered the door when Dana knocked. Susan looked rather surprised to see her, but invited her in anyways. Susan and Dana had, despite everything that had happened in the last six months or so, remained friends. Even so, Susan could tell something was up.

"Susan," Dana said after the pleasantries were out of the way, "Where's Marty? I need to talk to him. It's important," she added, seeing Susan's raised eyebrow. Either she was going to talk to Marty tonight, or the Jackals would be camped out on his front lawn by Monday morning.

"I… I'll go get him," Susan replied, staring at her friend oddly. Dana sighed and rubbed her temples, drawing another concerned look from Susan. She smiled.

"It's about Vince. I wanted to ask Marty about something related to Vince."

Susan smiled sympathetically, patted Dana's arm, and left to find her husband. Dana scowled for a brief second, before shaking her head with a sigh. It wasn't Susan's fault that everyone (including Susan herself) believed Vince was Chess. That was all Fleming's fault, and he would pay…

Marty came into the front hall a few minutes later; Susan was nowhere in sight. She was probably making small talk with the guests her husband had left behind. She really was a social butterfly…

"What's this about, Dana?" Marty asked, crossing his arms. He looked distinctly nervous about the whole meeting. Dana resisted the urge to smirk, although she was pleased. If Marty was off-balance, it was going to be easier to manipulate him on some level.

"It's about Vince," Dana replied, not bothering with any niceties this time. "I know you were involved in the witnesses disappearing. And don't play coy," she added in a hiss. "I know a lot about what you're doing for ARK and Fleming."

She smiled, softening her words a little. "I know you don't want to, Marty, but—"

Marty grabbed her arm, cutting her off before she could continue. "Dana," he said, voice low and serious, "Do not get involved with this. You will get hurt if you get involved." Dana raised an eyebrow, then snorted in disgust.

"Thank you, Marty," she said, forcing politeness she didn't feel into her voice. "I appreciate your concern. But my son still wakes up with nightmares, thanks to the fact that the company you work for killed his father. And another thing," she added, with quite a bit more venom this time, "I know you helped frame Vince. I'm sure Sergeant Hanson would want to know too."

Marty paled. "I think you need to leave, Dana," he replied stiffly. He escorted her to the door, ignoring the looks his wife—and when had she come into the hallway, Dana wondered absently—was giving him. "And don't call Hanson."

"Try me," Dana snarled, before leaving.

Well, _that_ had ended well. She was back at square one, her plan had fallen apart spectacularly (she'd imagined it going quite a bit better, honestly), and now she had to call Sergeant Hanson. Dana sighed and turned her car on. This was going to go well…

Sergeant Hanson was a nutcase, and the rest of the Jackals weren't much better.

- o – o -

Dana arrived back at the apartment to find Trip sitting in the living room, playing Monopoly with a strange boy his own age, Dane, and Mrs. Morris. The lights were off for some reason, and the living room was illuminated by flashlights and what looked like some repurposed headlights. They were probably Dane's—although why they were in her apartment, she had no idea.

"Hey mom," Trip said, looking up from his contemplation of the board. "This is Gerry, my friend. He just moved in downstairs. The power went out," he added, smiling. Well, that would explain why the city had been so dark during her drive back to Sycamore Boulevard.

Dana sighed. Her husband, her darling idiot of a husband, had something to do with this. Honestly, didn't he get into enough trouble without adding in causing a city-wide blackout? She was going to have to have a chat with him about his extra-curricular activities tomorrow when he came over for dinner.

"Wanna play Monopoly?" Trip asked.

"Sure," Dana said, smiling. "Where's the top hat?"

- - o - -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Can't wait to meet the Jackals? Drop a line and let me know!

Merry Christmas, y'all!


	9. Interlude: The Jackals

It's a new chapter! And a plot device!

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Interlude: The Jackals

Gregory Hanson, late of the United States Army, was sitting on his back porch with a rifle and a glass of lemonade when the call came in. Ignoring the golf balls sailing over his thirteen-foot high fence for the moment, he answered the phone. Dana Faraday was on the other end of the line. To say that the retired sergeant was surprised would have been an understatement.

He listened with half an ear as he picked off the monogrammed golf balls arcing over his fence, making a few noises every now and then to show that he was paying attention. According to Mother Jackal (the squad's affectionate nickname for the captain's wife), the captain had been framed. Marty Voyt, that rat fink, was most likely involved in the explosion that had killed Vince.

The mere mention of Marty Voyt made up Hanson's mind. He made a few apologies, stowed his rifle under the porch swing, and pounded into his house. If he had anything to say about it, he'd be in Palm City, Franklin, in less than a day. How much was a flight from Georgia to Franklin these days anyways…?

- o -

Jake Lofgren wasn't surprised when the call came in from Mother Jackal. What _did_ surprise him was the fact that someone had managed to pin a murder on Father Jackal. (Did retirement make officers stupid or something?) The security at the Loa Casino was remarkably surprised—with good reason—when their number one gambler walked out of the doors without a fuss. Normally, he was thrown out with a warning to never come back under pain of arrest.

The former corporal was a bit of a gambler—that was why he'd been in the Jackals, during his six consecutive tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, mainly because no one else wanted him. It was also what made him so eager to listen to Dana Faraday's story. He'd heard the press releases coming from Palm City—who hadn't, considering the nature of the crimes—but he hadn't believed them. (Well, if not for the dates not matching up, he would have believed them, but that wasn't the point.)

To hear that Marty Voyt, Captain Faraday's fink of a lieutenant, had been involved in the frame-up made Lofgren see red. He was normally a very calm man, but stool pigeons like Voyt never failed to piss him off. Obviously retirement hadn't made the captain stupid, but it had made him complacent. Not having every Afghani within spitting distance trying to kill you played hell on your reflexes, after all.

Lofgren grinned evilly as Dana finished her story with the plea to come to Palm City. This was too good of an opportunity to pass up…

As soon as Dana had hung up, presumably to call the next person on her list (good luck with that), Lofgren dialed a number from memory.

"Hey. Yeah, it's me Jake. I need a favor. What do you have in the garage that's fast?"

- o -

Corporal Tom Hartman's attending physician was rather surprised when the young man received a call from the wife of the young man's former commanding officer. After all, Hartman rarely got any calls or mail—even from his own relatives, who seemed to have disowned him. The nature of the call, had the physician been privy to it, would have disturbed him.

Hartman sat against the wall in the rec room, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he played with a lighter. To hear that Captain Faraday had been framed for being some psychopathic whackjob, and then blown up, was news to him. He hadn't heard from anyone from the squad since his admittance to the secure ward of a Veteran's Affairs hospital in upstate Franklin.

He flicked the lighter on and off as he listened, making a few noncommittal noises. Eventually, Mother Jackal asked if he could contribute something to her plan—one that seemed to follow the general basis of "clear the captain's name and shunt the real Chess into the nearest volcano". Hartman hummed something in the back of his throat as he studied the flame flickering in his lighter.

After Dana hung up, having secured a promise of some form of help—even if that help only included keeping the content of the call suppressed for as long as possible—the corporal grinned and turned to an orderly.

"How long does it take to travel from Greensville to Palm City?"

Dana really should have reconsidered calling Corporal Hartman.

- o -

Winston Greene—Winny, to his friends—was in the kitchen of a bar that served as the headquarters for the local biker gang when his personal cellphone went off. There were three people in the world who knew his number, and two of them were dead. That left one: Mother Jackal, better known as Dana Faraday. He wiped his hands on a dish towel and opened the phone so he could talk.

Dana Faraday was, the former private decided as he listened, quite a scary lady. That was saying something, as he knew several members of the Israeli Defense Force. A few months ago, the captain had been blown up after being framed as some local-level whack job. It was sad to say, but Winny would have believed the newspapers, if it weren't for the fact that he could do basic research. The captain had been at the military academy during the first murder (lucky dog had gotten in at seventeen, unlike the other poor schmucks in the officer corps), and the majority of them had occurred during his tours in the Middle East.

He looked into the main bar from his spot in the kitchen and rolled his eyes. Dana had barely finished her explanation when he agreed to come. She was stuttering a thank-you as he hung up. Was there really any need to give his two weeks notice, all things considered?

Nah.

Five hours later, the fire department of Green Hollow, Oceania* was called to respond to a massive fire at what had been the main headquarters of the local one-percenter biker gang. There was very little left of the structure, and what was left was on fire. There were no clues as to who had firebombed the building. The leader's bike was missing, as was the leader and the cook who'd wandered in two years ago off the rail lines.

- o -

The Jackals never were cut out for civilian life. Being called back into service for one last hurrah was, therefore, the best thing that could have happened to them. Peter Fleming and Marty Voyt would have been hard-pressed to agree.

- o -

*Oceania is, according to WtchCool, part of the fictional 15th Federal Circuit—right alongside Franklin.

So, what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Wondering why Dana isn't really mentioned in this chapter? Drop a line and let me know!


	10. The Lich

Hey, it's finally up! And, we're already to The Lich...? Dang.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o -

Chapter Nine: The Lich, part 1 and 2

As Dana worked her way through another stack of paperwork, she contemplated the Jackals. On their good days, they were more trouble than they were worth—Lofgren and Hanson in particular. (She was immensely grateful that Hartman was nowhere in sight today; she had no desire to deal with his rampant pyromania or self-immolating tendencies.) On the other hand, their special brand of insanity would be enough to give Chess a run for his money.

On their bad days, they could probably give Scales a run for his money too, come to think of it. (Honestly, what kind of crime boss came into the central legal hub of Palm City, in broad daylight, just to file some paperwork? Wasn't that was his lackeys were for? He was beyond nuts.)

At least the Jackals were keeping Travis at bay. He'd been getting more…smothering over the past few weeks, and was coddling her to the point of insanity. Dana had to wonder if Lofgren and Winny (they were running interference today, thank god) had seen Travis's calculating looks. Maybe they'd picked up on something she'd missed…

(It wasn't the fact that Travis was being considerate to the point of being smothering that was bothering her, but the fact that he kept hitting on her. It was—hopefully—just inadvertent or innocent on his part. She was pregnant and married, for God's sake! Well… She could excuse him for not knowing she wasn't a widow, but still…)

Hartman in particular had taken a special dislike for her boss. If it weren't for the fact that the Jackals were under orders to never (officially) reform, he probably would have led the charge to get rid of Travis. As it was, he was content to cause havoc for ARK Corporation—she really didn't want to know what his plans for the parade in two days was for. (And, apparently, turning Travis Hall into a stuttering wreck was a bonus as far as the pyromaniac corporal was concerned.)

Dana sighed and looked out her open door. Winny was sitting on the bench across from her office, cleaning a massive rifle. God knew where he'd gotten it. She really wished he hadn't brought it into her place of work to clean it though; it was making her incredibly nauseous. The woman reached for her package of saltine crackers and munched on one as she worked her way through the last bit of paperwork for a case involving some breaking-and-entering.

After half an hour of smelling Winny's gun oil, Dana groaned and rested her forehead on the stack of paperwork in front of her. The saltines weren't helping, and she was pretty sure the baby was taking great delight in bruising her ribs. Being pregnant with Trip hadn't been this bad—well, apart from the horseradish, anyways.

At five o'clock, Dana called it a day. She threw her leftover paperwork into her briefcase, slung her coat over one arm, and locked the office door behind her. Lofgren had taken over from Winny at some point during the day, and was being an obstruction in the hallway as he played solitaire on the floor. He stood up and kissed her on the cheek, smiling.

"Hello, Mother Jackal," he said smoothly. "May I drive you home?" He grinned impishly at her, and ducked the mock blow she aimed at his head. "What? It's not like you want to drive that truck home…do you? And seriously, the Marcos is _way_ more comfortable."

Dana sighed, smiling at the wheedling tone in the young man's voice. Lofgren had adjusted to civilian life faster than the rest of the Jackals, although it hadn't been a smooth transition. The Ochun City police had…extensive files on him. At least once a week, the former corporal was in court for putting a member or three of casino security in the hospital for manhandling him.

"Alright," the public defender sighed in defeat. "You win." The two of them started across the main lobby, chatting quietly about what the Jackals had been up to in the past six years.

"Hey Dana!"

It was Kia, Dana realized as she looked up from her conversation. The Hispanic lawyer had a smile on her face, although it didn't quite reach her eyes. Travis was with her. "Come get a drink with us," Kia offered. So she and Philips had gotten into a fight recently. Lovely.

"Thanks guys," Dana replied, "but I think the vortex has me tonight." She looked over at Lofgren, who had crossed his arms, and sighed. Judging by the odd positioning of his arms, he had both hands on his beloved Desert Eagles. (Who the hell had given him a concealed carry permit?)

"Uh, if you'll allow me, your honor," Travis said in a joking tone. Dana rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Proceed, counselor," Kia replied. She shrugged apologetically at Dana, and shot a wary look at Lofgren.

"I heard Deputy Faraday say earlier that her son was sleeping over at a friend's house. No compelling reason to get home early."

_Except for the fact that Dane the drug dealer is watching them until Gerry's mother gets home_, Dana thought cynically. She really didn't want to leave her son around that man for too long. (Well, at least he had a modicum of sanity, unlike the Jackals…)

And for the love of god, was Travis blind or completely stupid? Dana was hoping for the former, because blindness was the only thing going to save him from getting a bullet between the eyes. She had better things to do than explain to an ARK cop why an old friend of her husband's had shot her boss in the middle of the Public Defender's Office. She didn't need to go drinking to make herself feel any worse than she did right now.

"Duly noted," Kia replied dryly. She looked at Dana, and then at Lofgren. Lofgren had a murderous smile on his face. "Dana, we can always ditch the guys and go out for dinner somewhere quiet," she muttered under her breath so that only her female cohort could hear. Dana grinned, instantly grateful for the fact that Kia was more perceptive and less of a well-meaning blockhead than Travis.

"Unfortunately," Dana smiled regretfully, "I do have to get home. Maybe in a month or two, Travis," she added pointedly as Lofgren led her out of the lobby. She was pleased to note that Travis had the grace to flush in embarrassment.

"That went well," the former corporal muttered as he slid into the driver's seat of the Marcos. "You want I should go beat him up, or something?" he asked as he pulled out of the parking garage. Dana shook her head, eyes closed as she leaned back into the seat.

"Leave it be, Jake."

- o -

Dana was awoken the next morning by her phone. She contemplated throwing it through the window before she caught sight of the caller ID. The woman sat up, instantly awake. She was rubbing sleep out of her eyes as Vince's frantic message worked its way through her brain.

Orwell had gone missing? _Shit._

- o – o -

The Lich: Part Two

Whatever else Dana might have thought about ARK Corporation, she did have to admit that their Founder's Day Parade was actually pretty decent. Fleming definitely knew how to do his PR, she grudgingly admitted to herself as she studied her ice cream cone. The public defender was sitting on a bench with an unobstructed view of the end of the parade route and ARK Towers. Fleming was watching the parade with a smile that was a tad too smug for her liking.

Oh well, Dana thought as she took a bite of her cone. At least the smile wasn't going to last too long.

The woman sighed and finished what was left of her ice cream cone. What the hell had she been thinking when she'd invited the Jackals into Palm City? Even Vince told her the plan was nuts; coming from him, that was something. (The Jackals had followed Vince because he was at least as crazy as they were, if not more.) She groaned and leaned back against the bench, eyes closed.

Whatever else was going on, she had more important matters to worry about than her motives for bringing in the Jackals. They were, according to Hanson, planning something nasty. Beyond that, she didn't want to know. On another note, Orwell had been missing for three days now, with nary a sign from the elusive blogger. Vince had taken over for the time being, but even Orwell's followers had noticed something was up.

As the last parade float rolled by—a pirate ship—Dana realized what the Jackals were planning. Fleming had set up a press conference for after the parade. The public defender sighed and buried her face in her hands. This was _not_ going to end well…

Wherever Vince was, she sincerely hoped he was watching this.

- o -

Dana didn't know if she should have been impressed or horrified at what the Jackals had done during Fleming's press conference. While most people would have been content to listen, the Jackals had disrupted with their usual style. Whatever Fleming's original goal had been for the press conference, no one knew or cared. (At least Fleming hadn't managed to get Chandler Boulevard renamed. Orwell had done her bit, and the Jackals had done the rest.)

Lofgren had done an amazing job, although she'd heard Hanson chewing him out afterwards for adlibbing his performance. The former corporal had had a grand time, pointing out every inconsistency in Fleming's frame-job on Vince. Unfortunately, there was now a warrant out for his arrest. Apparently Fleming, who was more rattled than he'd let on, now thought the former Army corporal was Orwell. (Or something along those lines; Dana hadn't stuck around to listen to the expletives from Fleming's guards or to Fleming.)

The woman sighed and pulled a Tupperware box out of the fridge. It was leftovers night, and she wasn't sure what was in the fridge. She opened the box warily and felt her stomach beginning to rebel at the sight. Trip thundered into the kitchen, and Dana smiled.

"Fourth grade science experiment, or last week's egg salad?" she asked, holding the container up. Trip grimaced, nose wrinkling. Apparently not.

"Mom, dad's on the roof."

"Is he now," Dana replied absently, digging through the contents of the fridge. She really needed to clean this out, and she really needed to find something to either reheat or make for dinner.

"Mom! He says it's important!"

Dana turned around. "And he expects me to climb up to the roof?" she asked, gesturing at her belly. The future addition to the Faraday family kicked, apparently not impressed with Vince either.

"Right. I'll be back." Trip left the room, presumably to get his father.

Vince came down to the kitchen, looking a bit sheepish. He explained what he needed, and Dana sighed.

If it wasn't one thing, it was another…

- o -

Dana had no idea how she'd gotten away with breaking into ARK Towers. Hell, she wasn't even sure how she'd convinced Travis to help her out, all things considered. She hadn't told him that her _darling_ husband was the Cape, and he needed to speak to a perp. However, Vince had managed to scare the crap out of Travis (not that that was necessarily a bad thing), and had disappeared from the subbasement before she could even suggest that he take a Jackal or four with him.

Getting away from Travis had been a bigger problem, though. She'd finally managed to beg off his offer of dinner by letting him know that her son was being watched by a drug dealer and that she needed something for her nausea. He'd smiled and driven her back to her car, kissing her hand goodnight. (It was probably just her imagination, or the fact that she knew her husband was still alive, but Travis was being incredibly sleazy.)

The public defender didn't even bat an eyelash when Trip asked if they could order pizza. Considering how long it'd been since their rushed attempt to have dinner, she couldn't blame him.

"Okay, fine," Dana agreed. "But we're not having thin crust." Trip shrugged and smiled, scooting over on the step so his mother could sit down next to him. Dana smiled and sat down, hugging her son.

"So, your dad hypnotized a guard," Dana said as she dialed the number for a take-out place she knew. "And that wasn't even the strangest thing he did tonight…"

- o - o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Dana should get a leash for her husband? Drop a line and let me know!


	11. Razer

Hey, it's a new chapter. Wait... We're at Razer already? Dang.

Actually beta'ed, for once. Give a hand to the lovely WtchCool by reviewing one of her pieces!

- o -

Chapter Eleven: Razer

Pizza was becoming a bit of a thing around the apartment for dinner, Dana decided with a grimace as she and Trip walked down Sycamore Boulevard. It was an incredibly nice day for December, and she had elected to leave the car at home so she and Trip could walk. Trip was carrying the pizza box, and begging to play on his xbox when they got home.

(She was going to have to murder Hartman for getting Trip the games to go with the xbox. And then she was going to murder Vince for getting Trip the damn thing in the first place. Trip's grades were bad enough without the gaming system.)

Dana looked up at the sound of a roaring engine. A gold-colored car was roaring around the corner, and it didn't look good. The public defender swore under her breath and grabbed Trip to drag him away from the scene. A few seconds longer, and they might not have made it behind the silver Toyota in time.

This was not good for her pregnancy, and getting shot at wasn't good for Trip.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Are you okay?" she asked frantically, holding her son tightly as the shooting stopped. Trip clung to her, sobbing that he was fine. Dana breathed a sigh of relief as she saw Hartman appearing out of nowhere. The pyromaniac had a soft spot for Trip, and the shooters were going to regret their actions later.

She sighed as the first ARK patrol car roared to a stop on the street in front of her.

_Oh joy. Interviews_.

By the time the interviewer had reached her, Dana was fed up with the paramedics fussing over her. She was perfectly fine, the kid was fine, and all she wanted to do was go home and veg. Hell, even having Hartman set something on fire would have been great at this point!

"I didn't see who was in the car," Dana insisted as the man, a Detective Farris, questioned her. "We were…on the ground."

"Plates, anything." He sighed. "'Cause normally, this neighborhood… It's pretty quiet."

"Quiet?" Dana scoffed in disbelief, pushing her son behind her. "Do you live here?"

"No."

"I'm a public defender; gang violence is spiking, and this drive-by was aimed at _ARK cops!_" She was building up a head of steam over this issue, and the hormones weren't helping. "My son and I were caught in the middle of your gang war!"

"You're upset."

No shit, Sherlock. "You're damn right I'm upset!" Dana fired back. "If…if this shooting wasn't aimed at ARK cops, you wouldn't even be here! I spend my days defending victims of ARK police brutality, but apparently it isn't doing any good, because I still have gunfire on my front stoop!" She glowered at the man, who drew back with a look of fear.

"You people are corrupt, and incompetent," she finished in a low hiss.

"Take your son home." He turned to leave, before pausing. "And Mrs. Faraday, be very, _very_ careful."

She glowered at him and left, Trip trailing behind her. Hartman caught up with them as the detective passed out of their line of sight. He was playing with a lighter that had more in common with a Bunsen burner, and there was a manic glint in his eye.

"You want I should set him on fire?" he asked casually as they crossed the street.

"No," Dana replied automatically. She still wanted to know how he'd gotten out of the asylum, because she sincerely doubted it had been legal.

Hanson was waiting in her apartment when Hartman escorted her and Trip in.

"Your husband is doing something incredibly stupid."

Well, _that_ was a surprise.

- o -

Dana sighed as she watched the news later that evening. The gang war was causing all kinds of hell for ARK, and all the media could focus on was how it all led back to her "dead" husband. It was insane. Couldn't they focus on something that didn't involve how ARK had framed her husband? Jesus Christ.

She jumped as the phone rang. A quick check of the caller ID had her groaning in disgust. She wasn't home today. Or she was asleep. Either way, she didn't want to talk to Travis until work tomorrow. Goodbye, Travis.

The public defender was almost asleep when the phone rang again. She cracked open one eye to glower at the handset, and was instantly awake when she saw who was calling.

"Vince?" she asked, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder as she began searching for a pen and paper. "What's… WHAT?" she bellowed, hearing Vince's explanation for what he was doing. Her husband was an idiot.

"Fine," she growled, throwing the pillow at the easy chair Hanson had dragged in from somewhere. "On your head be it. Don't come crying to me if you blow yourself up, you idiot."

Her husband was insane. And this gang war was about to get a hundred times more interesting…

- o -

Dana stumbled into work the next morning, bleary-eyed and desperately wishing she could drink coffee or something with caffeine in it. She'd spent all night worrying about Vince and his stupid plan to infiltrate Scales' gang, and…

_Speak of the Devil… _Dana's train of thought screeched to a halt as she saw who was in the center of the lobby. Of course. The man was beyond insane, at this point. She glanced over at her bodyguard on duty—Winny, this time—and shook her head slightly. The gun disappeared back under his coat, and Dana continued towards her office.

If she ignored him long enough, Scales would just go away like usual.

"Mrs. Faraday?" Ah hell. So much for wishful thinking.

"Yes?" she asked, turning around as best she could. She wasn't very fast these days either, so hooray there. "May I help you…?"

Scales was looking down at her, eyebrows raised. He had a stack of folders in his hand, and if Dana had read them correctly, they were full of union paperwork. What the heck was he doing here, when half the city wanted him dead and the other half wanted him in prison? (Anyone with a modicum of sanity would have gone to ground with sentiments like that aimed at them… Oh wait. This was _Scales_.)

"Just lookin' fer someone wot files paperwork," he replied, leaning against the wall.

Dana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her life was about as surreal as it could get, but at least he wasn't hitting on her. (What was he doing with union paperwork anyways? Wasn't he a smuggler?) "Upstairs; should be the first corridor on your left."

"Thanks very much," the smuggler said, leaving without another word.

Dana stared after him for a few seconds, before shrugging. It was the lack of caffeine that was getting to her, honestly. In a few weeks, she could go back to drinking coffee, and everything else would go back to normal as well. (Except for Vince, though. That was a bit more difficult.)

She made it through the work day with a minimum of fuss, from Winny and Travis especially. Hartman appeared at some point around lunch to take over from the demolitionist, chattering excitedly about someone from ARK who'd managed to set himself on fire. It did have the side effect of getting rid of Travis, so she couldn't complain.

And then she got home and listened to her answering machine. Spending time with Travis would have been a hundred times more preferable to hearing how her darling husband had gotten himself beaten by Scales and his men. Max, on the other hand, was now her hero for saving Vince from the product of his stupidity. Vince had gotten evidence against ARK, though, so in his mind, the beating was worth it.

Why couldn't her life be less complicated?

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think people should stop pissing off a pregnant Dana? Drop a line and let me know!


	12. Endgame, part one

Well, here it is: A new chapter. It's been split into two parts, because I'm lazy.

Beta'ed by the lovely WtchCool.

- o – o -

Chapter Twelve: Endgame, part one

Dana paced around her apartment, lost in thought. Vince had gotten the evidence he needed to drag ARK's name through the mud, but she didn't think it was going to be that simple. Nothing ever was. She sighed—she had enough to worry about without this newest debacle. She was nine months pregnant and living in the middle of a gang war.

The pregnant public defender jumped as her phone rang shrilly. She checked the caller ID and swore under her breath. Why in the hell was Marty calling her? Didn't he have a press conference to attend or something? (And had he forgotten that she hated his guts at the moment?)

Wait… Dana looked over at the news still playing on her television. The events playing out on screen suddenly registered. Marty was being framed as well.

She hit "talk" on the phone and listened. Susan was calling for help.

Fifteen minutes later, Dana hung up the phone. She was now going to have to do something more proactive than setting the Jackals on Fleming, and that meant she had to defend Marty. Why did she have the feeling that she was walking into a buzz saw?

- o -

It had been surprisingly easy to get herself instated as Marty Voyt's public defender. According to the story she'd heard from Susan, the family lawyer was refusing to talk to them and their account had been frozen. A vicious little part of Dana was pleased at the misery the Voyts were now being forced to endure—a taste of what she and Trip had gone through.

The more rational, caring part of her mind was getting righteously hacked off about ARK Corporation and its hold on Palm City. She smirked mentally, before schooling her features into her game face. It was time to stare down Marty and make him accept her help.

Game on.

- o -

"You can't be here Dana," Marty said as soon as Dana walked into the room. "I don't want your help."

Dana smirked at her reluctant client. "You're being tried and convicted on the TV news, your life destroyed in a matter of hours… Not a friend left in the world." She smiled. "How does it feel?"

Marty sighed. "I am telling you, as a _friend_, walk away."

"Are you guilty of this?" Dana asked, already knowing the answer. Marty looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but didn't. "You know I have evidence Vince was framed. Now I think you're being framed. Tell me that's a coincidence. Now hear me out!" She glowered as he hammered on the door. "I'm all you've got, Marty."

He turned to her, face frozen in a mask of sadness and fear. She smiled as gently as possible as he sat back down.

"You know too much about Fleming, about ARK's link to organized crime…" She paused, swallowing. "About Vince's murder." She looked at Marty, who looked sick.

"_Fine_…Why can't you just let this go?" Marty asked quietly.

"I know you're scared, Marty—"

"Scared?" Marty scoffed. "Scared? Dana, this man threatened my…" He stopped, swallowing. The man sighed and rubbed his face with both hands. "Dana, you don't want to get involved in this."

Dana raised an eyebrow. "Too late for that," she replied waspishly. Marty sighed, shooting her a weary grin. "If you work with me, I can get you a deal and get you, Susan, and your kids into protective custody."

Marty paled a little. "Not with the Jackals," he said, automatically assuming the worst.

"Protective custody, Marty. I'm not trying to get you killed."

The disgraced police chief laughed at that. He had the feeling that somehow, Dana was going to make sure everything turned out all right. Well, except for the Jackals, he amended silently as he watched his public defender leave.

Well hell. This was going to end well…

- o -

Dana didn't even look up when Travis walked into the conference room shortly after eight pm. She was working over every scrap of evidence she'd collected on Voyt's case, looking for something to bury the case with. The bank statements were giving her a headache.

"I've made up my mind, Travis," she said.

"You don't have the authority to make up your mind," Travis replied as he sat down. "I'm still your boss. Remember me?"

Dana looked up, eyebrows raised. "Are you barring me from taking this case?"

"This is about your husband, Dana," he said. Dana snorted. "It is. And Fleming's raft of obscenely paid attorneys will go after you for that. How is that going to help Chief Voyt's defense?"

"Which is why I need you as my co-counsel," Dana returned. She smiled. "There is no way he is going to get a fair deal in Palm City. We get him out of town…he's got a shot."

"Out of town?"

"I want to do an end-run around the DA," Dana said, gears beginning to turn in her mind. "Go straight to the feds. Voyt turns states evidence against Fleming, and we get a federal commitment to witness protection."

"Simple as that." Travis sighed, taking off his glasses. "Well, I have a friend at Justice. I can try to get the ball rolling. In the meantime, we need a real plan."

"Right." Dana checked her watch. "And I have to get home to Trip." She stood up and began gathering her papers into her briefcase.

"And I have a date with a vending machine," Travis replied, leaning back in his seat as he cleaned his glasses.

Dana smiled at that. "I'm sure I'm forgetting something…and I will call you in five minutes."

"Why would tonight be any different?" Travis asked as she left. Dana sighed and shook her head. Added to her to-do list was now the item of 'consider letting Travis in on the secret about Vince'. There was no way this was going to work, and…

Dana stopped walking, halfway across the parking garage. Damn it, why hadn't she brought one of the Jackals with her today? She dropped her briefcase to the ground and reached into her purse for the can of mace.

The first thug dropped to the ground, clutching his eyes and howling in pain. Dana wasn't nearly fast enough to catch the second one and… She sighed as her husband threw the man across the garage and into the windshield of her car. She really didn't want to have to replace that…

When Travis thundered into the parking garage wielding a staple gun, it was almost too much for Dana. Before either man could carry their ensuing argument about her any further, Dana had both of them by the arms.

"Travis, you've met the Cape. Cape, you've met Travis." She looked at her husband. "And right now, I'm getting tired of the two of you fighting. Cape, you're going to let Travis in on the secret…" She glowered at Vince, who had the mulish look on his face he usually got when insisting he was fine or he didn't need a haircut.

"No way," her darling husband replied.

Dana crossed her arms. "I sincerely hope you have a good reason for that, mister. Is there any reason not to trust Travis?" She looked over at her boss, who looked a bit apprehensive about the conversation he was hearing. Her husband's mulish expression had faded and he sighed.

"If he calls ARK, I'm blaming you," Vince replied under his breath. Dana had the feeling that Travis wouldn't call. The side-effects of letting Travis in on this were going to be wonderful. One, he'd stop hitting on her quite as much, and for another, she'd stop going crazy about not having anyone to talk to who didn't know about Vince's innocence and moonlighting.

"Your….husband is…the _Cape_," Travis finally managed. Dana, drawn out of her musings, saw Travis gaping at her husband, mouth open wide. "Well… Umm…" He turned to Vince. "I sincerely apologize for hitting on your wife, and please don't throw me off the parking garage?"

Vince laughed at that, and Dana had the feeling that this wasn't going to end as badly as she'd feared.

- o – o -

So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Does Travis need to grovel a bit more? Drop a line and let me know!


	13. Endgame, part two

Hey, it's an update! I have nothing I want to do during the Superbowl, so have an update!

Un-beta'ed.

- o – o -

Chapter Thirteen: Endgame, part two

Getting an actual plan of attack together for Marty's case had taken less time than Dana had thought it would. Executing that plan, on the other hand… She sighed, resisting the urge to beat her forehead against the table in the conference room.

Marty Voyt was involved in a lot of crap, and she was being forced to sort through all of it. Travis was running interference between her and the press, for which she was eternally grateful. Even the Jackals were working with Travis now. (And wasn't _that_ surreal?)

Dana groaned as the baby kicked her ribs again, and rubbed her temples. What in heaven's name had possessed her to take this case on while she was almost nine months pregnant? Oh right… Susan. This was all Susan's fault, and—

"Dana!"

The public defender looked up when Hartman burst into the conference room, looking panicky. She hadn't seen him look like that since he'd accidentally set her husband on fire. (Vince had thrown him into the pool for that, if she recalled that last barbecue so many years ago correctly. Hartman had looked like a drowned rat.)

"Voyt made bail!"

Dana swore under her breath. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. "I'll get my coat," she said, standing up.

- o -

Dana pushed her way through the crowd, Hartman and Lofgren elbowing nosy reporters out of the way for her. She flashed her id card at the guard stationed at the door. "Dana Faraday, public defender." She was ushered through without another word.

Marty was being herded down the stairs with Susan at his side, a look of panic on his face. Dana rushed over to him, noting that the two Jackals with her had taken up defensive positions. Hartman seemed to have acquired another book of matches.

"Marty, what the hell were you thinking?" Dana asked when she was closer to the man. He looked at her, confused. "You were supposed to sit tight!"

"What? But I thought you…" He trailed off.

Dana made protests as the guards attempted to herd her client towards the door. "There is a mob out there!" she yelled, only to be told that the guards were under orders. She swore under her breath and made a mental note to strangle Fleming or whoever had posted Marty's bail when she found them.

"Get back inside!" Lofgren bellowed, dropping into what everyone had dubbed his "voice of command". Vince had tried to copy him, but had never come close. The guards were about to comply with his orders when the first shots were fired.

Lofgren returned fire, only to come face-to-face with an irked superhero. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Dana.

"Friend of yours?" the gambler asked.

Dana sighed. She was going to have words with her husband about his entrances and… She began coughing as Vince threw down a smokescreen. And she was really going to have to talk to him about the damn smoke bombs.

Three hours later, their odd little group had made good on their escape. They were now ensconced in a little shop straddling the border between Trolley Park and the train yards. Marty and Susan were embracing and trying not to cry. Dana was mostly thankful that they were too busy to notice how close she was to their savior, the mysterious Cape.

She grinned as the Jackals ran past, Leyla and CJ trailing along in their wake. Despite Marty's initial misgivings, his children were thriving under the attentions of the two men. (Honestly, it wasn't really a surprise. Lofgren and Hartman—when they weren't being insane or military men—were essentially overgrown children.) Even then, Marty was practically spitting tacks over the fact that the Jackals were in so well with his children, yet would have loved nothing more than to murder him.

The public defender slouched down on a couch, glowering down at her ankles. While this pregnancy had been easier than her first one by a mile, it was still playing hell on her ankles. (At least it wasn't bad enough to affect her walking or running. With Trip, she'd been practically bedridden due to how swollen her ankles had gotten.)

Dana looked up when the cushions shifted, and smiled. "Hey you," she said affectionately, leaning back into the plush cushions. Apparently whatever meeting he'd been in with Max and Rollo was over, and it must have ended well because he wasn't pacing.

"Hey Dana," Vince replied. His voice was low and scratchy again. A quick check showed that Marty was nearby, eyeing them suspiciously. The Jackals—who'd guessed Vince's identity almost as soon as they'd seen him in his costume—were nearby. They were playing with…something. (Seriously, what were they? Five?) "How are you, sweetie?"

Dana shrugged, closing her eyes for a few seconds. "Tired. My ankles are sore. I'm hiding in a shop, and Trip is with my parents." She saw her husband shudder and hid a grin behind her hand. Vince and her parents had never gotten along. His Republican alliance or his military career might have been the cause of friction, but she wasn't really sure which had caused more problems in the long run.

The two Faradays sat in silence for several minutes. Vince broke the peace when he placed a hand on Dana's belly. "Few more weeks, huh?" His voice was back to normal, Dana noted. Marty and Susan must have left.

"If you don't want to lose that hand…" Dana murmured. Vince removed his hand quickly.

"Right. Umm… Well, we've got a few hours till dawn. That's when the train gets here," Vince added, seeing his wife's quizzical look.

"Lovely," Dana replied, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Wake me up before it gets here, and you sleep on the couch for a month, mister."

She heard Vince chuckle and walk away with a tell-tale swish of heavy fabric.

- o -

Everything had gone to hell. There was no other way to put it.

Somehow, if anyone had been to shoot Marty, Dana would have guessed it would have been Scales. Hell, she'd seen him sitting at the edge of the train yards, rolling a cigarette. His gun had been resting on the lid of his trunk, next to what looked like a beer.

And yet…it had been an ARK trooper who'd shot Marty. Scales had been arrested, and now it was looking like the smuggler was going to take the blame. What the hell? (For that matter, why had the man been there in the first place? Had he been hired to kill Marty and her husband? And if so, why hadn't he moved? Of course…it _was_ possible that he either didn't care or hadn't seen the two men. Anything was possible, she decided with a mental grimace.)

Orwell finished checking the apartment for any sort of bugs that might have been placed there. Dana felt a smirk creep onto her face at the annoyed look the blogger got when she discovered the pink duct tape on the cameras Dana had found. That proved that.

"I'll…see you later, Dana," Orwell muttered. She smiled at Trip, and hurried out of the apartment. Dana sighed, resisting the urge to beat her forehead against the wall. Why hadn't she ordered the blogger to stay for the night? Letting her go out while she was so…out of it had been a very bad idea.

Dana jumped when Sergeant Hanson slid into her apartment through an open window. "Grayson!" she yelped when he placed a rather daring kiss on her cheek. "What? What do you want?"

"With your permission, Mother Jackal, we'd like to reform the Jackals."

The public defender grinned, face becoming a demonic mask. Really, why had her husband _ever_ insisted on her leaving the CIA?

"Permission granted."

There was no doubt in her mind as to what would happen next.

- o – o – o -

So, what did you guys think? Good? Bad? Wondering why the hell Dana was in the CIA? Drop a line and let me know!

By the by, there's another two chapters to go. Don't worry.


	14. Your Move

Hey, it's an update! And...this looks like it's the last chapter. *is sad*

Beta'ed by WtchCool. Legalese also provided by WtchCool. Say thank you to her.

- o – o -

Chapter Fourteen: Your Move

Dana paced around the visitor's area of Owl Island Prison, going over the reasons she needed Dominic Raoul alive. It was a _very_ short list. No, he hadn't been involved in Marty's murder—not directly anyways—but he _had_ been part of the plan. He was also a smuggler, had committed more crimes than she had during her active career, and… Ahgh! He was just… He got on her nerves.

"Mrs. Faraday?"

The public defender looked up as a guard called her name. She stopped pacing and straightened her back as much as she could. The guard smiled at her and made small talk that she largely ignored as he led her to the tables that separated the visitor's area from where the prisoner's area sat.

On another note, the list of reasons for keeping Travis and Kia alive was rather short as well. If she hadn't been watching the process like a hawk, she would have guessed that her boss had rigged the drawing to see who would be Scales' public defender. As it stood, she really wished Fleming hadn't managed to freeze the smuggler's assets. The man could have had his lawyer—Sestito, that bastard—get him out of prison in less than twenty-four hours.

As it was, she was now defending the smuggler and preparing to head right for the hospital at any minute. All in all, it was an average day for her.

Scales was sitting across from her, looking…washed-out. It was probably the lights, Dana decided. They didn't work for anyone but a corpse. (Although she had a feeling the Lich didn't appreciate the lighting. He was still, according to the news, sedated twenty-four/seven.)

"Faraday," Scales said as soon as she picked up the handset. "Let me ge' one t'ing straight: We don' like each other, an' we ne'er will. But," he continued, seeing her look, "We both 'ave wot th' other wants. Get me out o' 'ere, an' I can sink Fleming." The deformed smuggler sat back, arms crossed and an expectant look on his face.

Dana had to appreciate the brusqueness and to-the-point attitude the man possessed. There was no denial of anything, no begging…just laying down the facts. She smiled, not caring if she looked a bit like a shark.

"And how would I get you off of death row, Mr. Raoul?" Dana replied. Her lawyer sensibilities had her blood boiling and urging her to commit murder as his story unfolded. It seemed, unfortunately, that they had a deal. In return for having his arrest and any possibility of a trial thrown out, she'd get every bit of blackmail Scales had acquired on Fleming.

As she left, she had to wonder _why_ the smuggler had never used any of it himself…

- o -

When Dana returned to her apartment building later that day, she had to wonder what the Jackals had done now. The building was…too quiet. Normally Dane in 5D was creating some sort of havoc that had the landlord up in arms, or Mrs. Morris and Ms. Blander were having an argument about soap operas at the tops of their lungs.

She took one look at the scene in her living room and sighed. If her blood pressure went up any more this week, her obstetrician was going to murder her. The Jackals had, for some unfathomable reason, turned her living room into a decent approximation of a military ready room—at full Red Alert.

As to why Orwell was sitting in the center of the chaos, calmly directing Hartman and Lofgren's attention to something on the screen of one of her many holographic computers, she had no idea. The public defender sighed and set her bag of take-out on the side table before shucking out of her coat. No matter how afraid she was to ask, she was going to have to.

"Boys and lady," she said, tone warning, "What have you done to my living room?" Although the smile on her face was pleasant, the drop in the room's temperature left no room to argue with the pregnant woman. Surprisingly, Corporal Hartman was the one to break the silence.

"We thought about turning your place into an interrogation room," the red-headed corporal replied with a smile. "Did you know that it takes about four minutes—without accelerant, mind you—to burn someone's hair off?" Lofgren kicked him in the shin, a significant look on his face.

"Err…_right_," Hartman muttered, blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Anyways, turns out little Miss Blogger here," he gestured to Orwell, "is Peter Fleming's long-lost daughter, Jamie. Ain't she just the spitting image of him?" He grinned, and Dana was absently left wondering _why_ the pyromaniac had picked up the sergeant's accent and for what purpose.

As to the Jackals… Well, there was a reason Vince had been sent to be their officer. They were like live grenades, and annoying as all hell. Vince had been the only one disturbed enough to understand them, and stable enough to direct them towards the appropriate target. This seemed to be one of the "live grenade in the wrong box" scenarios Vince had told her about.

Lofgren muttered something that had Hartman laughing. He looked at Dana and shrugged, smiling as he stuck an unlit cigarette behind his ear. "While we'd _love_ to see what dear ol' Petey would do to get his baby girl back in one piece, she made us see that she was more useful when she was cooperating."

The malicious little glint told Dana that wasn't even the half of it. Something was up and… When in the hell had Sergeant Hanson picked up a chainmail apron? Dana stared at the man for a few seconds, before deciding she didn't want to know.

"Alright, that sounds…great," Dana agreed, sitting down on the couch. Winston, who'd appeared from Trip's room—the best access for the fire escape in the apartment—had cleared a spot for her. He disappeared again to make tea.

"We're just figuring out a plan of attack, Mrs. Faraday," Or…_Jamie_ said. She smiled, brushing a long dark strand of hair back behind one ear. "We figure, if you can't get that information from Raoul, our next best bet is to sink him with video evidence of Vince's…er… Well, the circumstances leading up to his 'death'."

As Dana watched the footage Jamie had collected from the mini-cams mounted on the riot armor most ARK police wore, she had to admire the girl's tenacity. And her ingenuity. Most people wouldn't have thought of this, or even attempted to get anything. (Later, the public defender would be surprised to learn that it had been Greene who'd suggested looking for actual footage from the helmet cams. Orwell hadn't even thought of those.)

The next three hours were taken up with hammering out three different plans—Alpha, Beta, and Chi. Alpha relied on Scales' information (and was thus the most likely to fail). Beta relied on the helmet cams—and had the most likely chance of succeeding, if they could get it admitted as evidence. Chi was the most likely to succeed, and combined a bit of Orwell's blog with the evidence from both sources.

(While Dana didn't agree with manipulating the courts to this degree, she'd agree in this case. Getting Vince's name cleared was her best hope at getting him home before too much time had passed. She didn't want to deal with the fact that everyone still thought he was guilty while she raised two children.)

After the plans were hammered out, Dana ordered more takeout. The Chinese hadn't lasted long with the horde of locusts that were currently plaguing her apartment, and besides—Vince had agreed to stop by for dinner. She couldn't exactly say no to that.

As she waited for the takeout to arrive, she contemplated the three plans. This was… Well, if it didn't end well, it'd at least leave some interesting variables up in the air.

Hooray.

- o -

By the end of the next week, Alpha and Beta had formed into something that resembled Godzilla. Plan Delta, which pretty much meant they were now flying by the seat of their pants, relied on the fact that Kia's boyfriend had brought his own testimony to the stand. Somehow, the subject of Vince had come up during one of their dates. Rather than deny everything, the ARK security guard had broken down and confessed everything to his girlfriend. Kia had contacted Dana; Philips was, unfortunately, on the road to unemployment for his aid.

Dana was in the courtroom for the eighth time in as many days, trying to resist the urge to stand up and start pacing. As Scales' attorney, she had filed a motion to suppress evidence and a motion to dismiss the charges. It had been far too long since she'd done much more than getting sentences reduced to time served—there were far too many cases like Dewey's, and the public defender's office wasn't doing much more than that these days.

These pre-trial motions were getting on her nerves for more than one reason. Scales had been nothing if not courteous, which was more than could be said for her opponent. The man was a snake, through and through. (Considering her aforementioned client, that was saying something.) Mason Raith was a bit of a bastard, and the fact that he was heading up ARK's rebuttal to her case only made that fact so much worse.

She groaned as an especially hard kick met her ribs. Oh yeah. There was that too. At some point this week—probably even today, if she was so lucky—was her due date. Hooray. Well, at least if she went into labor she could ask for a recess. (Judge Greene was many things, including a family man and a real nut about cleanliness. Even the threat of labor in his courtroom would send the man into a panic.)

Dana rubbed her temples as she went over the case thus far. Jamie's testimony, as well as what she'd put up on the blog, had applied some serious pressure to ARK. They hadn't yet decided if putting up Fleming's face as he removed the mask was a good idea—there was too much chance everyone on the team that had abducted Vince in the first place would wind up dead.

Jacob Philips's testimony, though, was the basis for her motion to suppress Scales' statements. Who would have guessed that Fleming would have been stupid enough to not make sure his guards administered Miranda Rights before proceeding straight to interrogation?

This case had gone straight to hell, and ARK's lawyers were _still_ doing everything they could to make sure it ended in their favor. As to _why_ they were trying to pin this crime on Scales, she had no idea. He was being deliberately cagey as to why he'd been at the train yards in the first place; if not for her desire to screw ARK over and get that file (she'd seen the evidence of its existence the day after brokering the deal with her client), she would have pressed for answers. Dana suspected he'd been hired or coerced into killing Voyt—and the sad thing was, she was probably right.

She groaned as an especially hard kick met her ribs. If she went into labor here in the courtroom, she'd never hear the end of it. Still, it was a decent delaying tactic. There was a man in New York State who'd somehow managed to drag a case out for seven years. (Travis had threatened to murder her if she tried to use that many delaying tactics; it seemed that ARK Corporation wasn't the only one wanting a speedy resolution for this case.)

Dana looked up at the judge's empty chair. Judge Greene was currently mulling over the motions. She sincerely hoped he just tossed the case out on insufficient evidence: If the judge excluded Scales' statements, ARK's case against him should fall apart. That would make her life _so_ much easier…

She was startled out of her thoughts when the bailiff called for all to rise as Judge Greene walked back into the courtroom. She sincerely hoped she wouldn't have to murder anyone—it'd be a real career killer. Just the fact that Philips had admitted that his team had administered an interrogation without following proper legal procedure should have been enough to toss out the entire case.

Hell, even the video footage from the train yards… Oh _wait._ Said video evidence had mysteriously gone "missing" on its way to the evidence locker. Even Orwell, with all her computer skills and in with ARK hadn't been able to dig up a copy. The blogger was moping about that fact.

Having taken his seat, Judge Greene delivered his ruling. "It is the opinion of this Court that, in light of testimony from Officer Philips, all evidence gathered during Mr. Raoul's interrogation is inadmissible."

Dana smirked as she heard the judge's ruling. After hearing Philips's story, she'd gone straight to the DA to request that all evidence gathered during Mr. Raoul's "interrogation" be thrown out on that basis. She hated taking advantage of a technicality, even a constitutional one, but it definitely got results. It was just too…underhanded for her tastes. Ah well. At least it had worked. Her motion to suppress had been granted; that just left her motion to dismiss.

She looked up at Judge Greene, who was smiling.

That smile was either a very good thing, or a sign that everything was about to go to hell.

"Case dismissed," Judge Greene said. He looked over at the fleet of ARK lawyers, who looked outraged. "I sincerely hope you learn to follow procedure next time, gentlemen." He banged his gavel down once, sending the courtroom into a hurricane of noise and movement.

Dana looked down and swore before standing up. "Excuse me, your honor," she said politely, "but a much more pressing matter requires my attention." It was amazing how quickly the courtroom quieted down, and how fast she was escorted to a waiting ambulance for a quick ride to the nearest hospital.

Nine months, on the dot.

- o – o -

Well, what did you think? Good? Bad? Any final thoughts before the epilogue closes this for good? Drop a line and let me know.


	15. Epilogue

Well... It happened. It's the last chapter. I'd like to thank everyone who took the time out of their day to read this story, as well as the people who put it on their alert list. Special thanks go out to my reviewers: dem bones, Orwell is Watching-xoxo, and WtchCool.

Extra special thanks go out to WtchCool for putting up with my requests for beta work and her unending patience in regards to the legal aspects of the world that appeared in this story. She deserves a medal for putting up with me at one in the morning.

- o – o -

Epilogue

Elizabeth Felicia Faraday was born nine months to the day after her father's "murder", and mere hours after the charges against Dominic Raoul had been dropped. She was as healthy as she could be, and the Faradays were reportedly very pleased with the results of labor. (Trip was heard to say, later, that he still would have preferred a dog—but at least his sister might be active enough to require a leash, and that was pretty much the same thing.)

The footage from the end of the pre-trial motions was immortalized later that night on the local NBC affiliate and on Orwell Is Watching. Apparently Dominic Raoul, not one to let go of a grudge, had released a massive file (including several dozen duplicates) to members of the press. While he had promised Dana Faraday a copy of the file, she couldn't begrudge him a little self-indulgent pettiness in this case.

The fallout from the revelations contained in the file brought some very serious questions about ARK Corporation to light again. Although there was no evidence that Peter Fleming was Chess, there was enough to implicate the billionaire as the psychopath's accomplice in numerous crimes. The mayor was reportedly very interested in the alleged plot to blow up the half ton of L-9 in the hold of the _Lady Luck_, as well as the effects it would have had on his city.

Peter Fleming weathered the storm of bad press with his usual charm and panache. Despite the questions raised by the press and outside forces—such as the Federal Marshals and the Franklin State Police, to name a few—ARK Corporation had had a decent effect on the crime rate in Palm City. Dana Faraday reportedly threw her television out the window after the press conference that affirmed that Fleming would remain in control of the PCPD.

Orwell's blog went into overtime after that press conference, dredging up whatever muck he (or she; the press still wasn't sure what the blogger's gender was) could find. The implication that Fleming had been providing weaponry to the Iranians brought in the Department of Defense as well as several foreign agencies, such as Interpol and Mossad. Nothing ever came of the investigations, although there were rumors of a massive payoff involved in the hush-up. The half ton of L-9 disappeared from a warehouse on the docks shortly thereafter, but no evidence as to who had taken it was ever uncovered.

The next big surprise regarding Peter Fleming emerged when his daughter—who had disappeared several years prior—surfaced in Palm City. It was a refreshing change of pace from the scandals that had nearly destroyed ARK Corporation, although the press refused to give up in its quest to find more dirt on the billionaire CEO and his daughter. Her vanishing act when she was sixteen became the hot topic of debate for several months until several lawsuits made a large number of journalists unemployable in Palm City or the State of Franklin.

When Jamie Fleming introduced her father to her new paramour, a strongman from a local carnival in Trolley Park, there was quite a bit to be heard from both Flemings. Eventually Fleming grew used to the idea of his daughter being a grown woman with a boyfriend, although he took a rather perverse delight in having a security team shadow the two wherever they went. (If Rollo Iliescu wanted to date Jamie Fleming, he was going to have to suffer her father's paranoia and over-protectiveness quietly.)

Orwell Is Watching slowly lost its vitriol towards Peter Fleming over the months, leading to the rise in speculation that Jamie Fleming was, in fact, the elusive blogger. All speculation ceased several years later when the elder Fleming finally retired after several near-fatal "accidents". He did, however, lend his daughter advice on how best to run ARK. If his advice was ever followed, no one knew. Jamie certainly hadn't listened when she'd married Rollo, after all.

(No one ever did find out who sent the Tarot assassins after him; it was most likely due to the fact that Fleming's actions had resulted in the arrest and/or deaths of three of their best assassins. It was better for everyone involved that he remained out of the public view.)

Dominic Raoul's release from prison also heralded massive changes to the structure of gangland. The smuggler reportedly executed several of his former allies when he discovered them attempting to divide his territory amongst themselves. That they had injured several of his men and an unnamed third party only added fuel to the fire.

His new associates from the Department of Defense added to his credibility in the legal world. After all, there were only two men alive who could control the Jackals. Dominic Raoul seemed to be one of them. The docks flourished under the man's touch, and Chief Faraday of the Palm City Police Department was heard to remark that incarceration seemed to have done something for the man's intelligence. He wasn't quoted in the press again for quite some time.

The Faraday family never did explain how Vince had survived the explosion that was thought to have taken his life. It had taken the insistence of his old team—a group of wet works men collectively known as the Jackals—to ensure that his return to life went as smoothly as possible. Their connections with the smuggler Dominic Raoul were never brought up.

Despite Dana Faraday's reluctance to admit the fact, Scales seemed to have taken it upon himself to keep the youngest Faraday child safe from the criminal elements of the city. It seemed the smuggler had a soft spot for small children; surprisingly, no one ever tried to exploit the weakness. (Whatever he'd done to the men attempting to take his territory had apparently frightened off any elements who would have exploited it.)

No one would ever question why he had taken the only Faraday daughter under his wing, even years later when he appeared at her tryouts for the British National football team. They didn't even bother to investigate the rumors that he'd coerced the scouts and judges for the try-outs into letting her play for what had formerly been an all-male team. She was, after all, a fighting Faraday.

The Cape continued to be a solid presence in Palm City for years after. No matter what happened, he was Palm City's living legend. The comic book company that owned the rights to the hero even used the living vigilante as a promotional tool later on. Although his identity was never discovered—even fifty years after his first sighting—it was an open secret that the Faraday family guarded that secret rather well. He was a family friend, according to rumor.

In any other universe, the ending would have turned out for the worse. But in this one case, a simple phone call changed the course of events for the better.

- o – o -

So, the story comes to a close at last. I'd like to know what you thought, both of the epilogue and your favorite chapter. Drop a line and let me know!


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